Swimming Against The Tide
by loveavenger
Summary: Harper Quinn is back in the arena for the Quarter Quell. She would have thought it was bad luck if she hadn't met her should-have-been mentor Finnick Odair along the way, but what does the future hold? Catching Fire/Mockingjay. Quinnick. R&R!
1. Introduction

_Swimming Against the Tide – An Author's Note and Introduction_

Hey! To start with, I don't want any flames. Flamers will get sent to a Quarter Quell of my own creation. If you have a problem with how I'm writing this story, then I welcome you to tell me but yeah, flames suck. Reviews however are like my favourite thing in the entire world so please review and maybe favourite? Pretty please with cherries on top?

Continuing, this is a T-rated story for now because of a little tiny bit of language (I've tried not to put anything coarse in it) and obviously quite a bit of violence. It may become M in the future but at the moment I _cringe_ even at the thought of writing lemons so it's gonna be staying T for quite a while.

This is sort of canon and sort of not. Finnick doesn't die because that would kind of ruin the whole romance thing (plus I love Finnick and didn't want him to die in the first place). Mags doesn't go into the Quarter Quell because then I'd have no story and Annie Cresta does _not _exist. Sorry :c Jealousy leads me to kill off characters sometimes.

I'm probably rambling too much now, so carry on to the first chapter and enjoy!


	2. Chapter 1

I wringed my hands until the skin felt worn and tired, my heart thumping out a hundred beats a minute in a rhythm I didn't want to listen to. Mags rubbed my back encouragingly, giving me a comforting look without speaking a word. We stood together in the little cordoned-off pen, just the two of us, living victors together. In the other pen, stood Finnick, running his hands through his hair as I had done a few minutes earlier. My hair, I mean, not his.

Most of the victors had _'mysteriously'_ disappeared that morning. We had a huge pool of victors, especially on the male side, and even though the Peacemakers had raided the Victors' Village that morning, most of them had been nowhere to be found. In serious hiding, I guessed, or in someone's house watching from afar. Some may have even committed suicide. Who knows, with another arena in front of us?

The girls were fawning over him. I could barely contain my sighs.

"Is this really the time?" I whispered quietly to Mags, and she shook her head quietly.

"All I want is a quiet retirement stage. Is that too much to ask? Seriously, President Snow…" she whispered back.

"I know, I know," I said, rubbing her hand in attempted comfort.

She edged closer to the guy's pen.

"It'll be okay in there, Finnick," she said, in real comfort. Mags' voice was so warm and soothing it was unreal.

"I-I don't know," he said, his voice shaking. It was clear that he did know – it would most definitely NOT be okay in there.

"It's time for the reaping!" the announcer grinned cheerfully. The families that didn't have anyone in the pens cheered slightly – we were a Career district, supposedly, but most of the cheers seemed kind of fake.

"No, no, no," I said under my breath.  
>"First to reap, we'll take the guys!"<p>

The woman scraped around in the barrel (we use fishing barrels for the reaping) here for the inevitable name.  
>"Finnick Odair!" she announced way too happily, and Mags began to cry. We all knew it was going to happen, I just don't think she was ready for it. Finnick readied himself and breathed in, walking up to the stage. The girls were falling over themselves to get up to the front.<p>

He looked down despondently. The girls started swooning at the look in those eyes. I sighed again, cradling a crying Mags.

"And for the ladies!" the woman rummaged through the respective barrel to pick one of the two names that were in there. "Harper Quinn!"

What was that? Oh yeah, that was my heart jumping from my chest and into my throat, rendering me unable to breathe. I started shaking and unattaching myself from Mags. Her sobs became louder. I knew how it felt to send two kids you'd mentored to their death – I don't even want to think about how she was feeling.

"Harper, please make your way to the stage!"

I stood next to Finnick on the wooden stage, looking down into the eyes of every single person in the audience. Then something happened that was completely unexpected – something I thought that even Mags' infinite wisdom could not have thought up. Finnick reached across nervously and grasped my hand. The announcer almost fell over herself in her excitement at this development, as did all of the girls in front of the stage, in their jealousy.

Me, I felt _nothing_. Because although I was the victor of the 67th Hunger Games, I was mentored by Mags and Mags only, and for reasons unknown, I had never even met Finnick up 'til now because he was always busy in the Capitol. I didn't even know this guy, and I was being put into a Quarter Quell with him. Well, isn't that just luck?

Looking up onto the massive screens displaying the reaping, I saw the biggest contrast I had ever seen in my short lifetime. On one side was this gorgeous hunk, a beautiful man with sea-green eyes you could melt into, bronze-coloured hair and a body to die for. The plain girl he was holding hands with had wavy reddish-brown hair, brown eyes that were nothing special and a skinny little body with no curves in sight.

The next thing they did was stick us on a long train that would take us to the Capitol. It would take us two whole days to get there and that was on a high-speed train, so I was already wondering how I would pass the time and how I would cope in the Quell. I didn't have any possessions, so I didn't take long for them to kick me and Finnick onto that damn train and get it going.

With no mentor (as we were previous victors we were expected to take care of ourselves and I don't think Mags could face it), we were left spending our time on the train as we pleased, and it was extremely boring. It was around lunchtime when we left District 4, and hungrily, I sat down to the table to have something to eat. They served us fish in a creamy white sauce, warm bread and mashed potatoes with ice water in goblets on the side.

Finnick was done eating before I had even finished half of mine. I ate the fish slowly as he began to talk.

"So, I'm Finnick Odair," he said calmly. I almost choked on my mouthful with laughter.  
>"You think I don't already know that?"<br>"And you're Harper Quinn."

"I'm surprised you know that."  
>"How could I not know that? You live next door to me, I would have mentored you if it wasn't for Snow and his ways and you're pretty famous. And cunning," he said, mopping up the sauce left on his plate with another slice of bread.<p>

"You could say that," I shrugged.

"So here's a little about myself. I'm Finnick. I won the 65th Hunger Games – I was fourteen. I fish most of the time now, with a trident and I spend most of my time by myself or sometimes talking with or looking after Mags. Things I like are the sea, peaceful days and home-cooked meals. Unfortunately I can't cook for my life, so…"  
>"I'm Harper. I won the 67th Hunger games – I was sixteen and Mags was my mentor, sometimes I still visit her too to clean with her and make sure she's okay. I spend most of my time cooking for my dad and making sure he's okay so generally making sure people are okay is what I do. When I have time, I actually like to draw, run, swim and sometimes I fish too. I play a lot of lacrosse. Things I like are also the sea, hot tea, long baths and not having to make sure people are okay for one second. Unfortunately I don't get that second, so…"<p>

Finnick laughed.

"Well, all you're going to have to look after now is yourself, does that count?"  
>"Not the relaxing idea I was thinking of."<p>

"If it helps, I'll do what I can to look after you too."  
>"Thank you."<br>We carried on talking for a few hours, him talking about his life and his Games and me talking about my father and my history. The Avox waitresses came in occasionally to give us more water. I tried to avoid their gaze whilst they did, knowing I would feel really guilty if I looked them in their eyes.

At around four-thirty, I started rubbing my eyes.

"Are you tired?"  
>"A little bit, but it's only mid-afternoon."<br>"It's been a long day. Why don't you go and take a long bath like you said you liked?"  
>"I think I will. Meet me later?"<p>

"Where?"  
>"In the lounge, I wanna watch some TV or something."<br>"Okay, I'll meet you there."

After getting out of the bath, I brushed through my newly-washed hair and pawed through the drawers to try and find something to wear. After finding some warm light-grey tracksuit bottoms and a dark blue vest top, I put on some small, thin slippers and padded through about six carriages before I found the lounge, and Finnick. I was trying to put off the thoughts of the Games as much as possible, and being with him made me think about not much at all.

There're a couple of hours each day where the Capitol relents with their endless government broadcasting and broadcasts Capitol-made soap operas and the like instead. Of course there's a hint of propaganda in them but it makes a half-decent change from the usual blatant propaganda. To celebrate the Quarter Quell, they were rerunning these programmes for a few days to make up for the endless games coverage.

We watched for a while until I noticed Finnick looking uncomfortable and tapping his nails in an even rhythm on the arm of the couch.

"Are you okay?"  
>"Y-Yeah, I'm fine."<br>"No, seriously, are you okay?"  
>"Not really," he admitted.<p>

"What's up?"  
>"What's up? What's up? Apart from the fact that in like a week we'll be sent into an arena where we'll have to kill people I've grown to know, people that are living human beings, that have feelings and emotions and families! We'll either kill or be killed, for the SECOND time around! I thought I'd be out of there forever!"<p>

"So that's what's up…"  
>"Are you not bothered by this at all? Do you not care that you'll have to kill people again, have to go back to a place where you can never let your guard down, see all the horrors that take place? Are you really that cold?" he looked at me, absolutely horrified, like I was the <em>most monstrous being<em> he'd ever seen.

"No. It's just that I'm trying to forget for the moment. I'm trying to watch some crappy TV shows for a little while and curl up on the sofa and not think about the fact that I might have to go back there again. Is that okay with you?" I said, a tear slipping down my cheek. "I think I'll just go back to my room, because it's obvious my company is pretty disgusting for you, and I'll just spare you the hassle."  
>"I didn't mean…"<p>

In my room, I asked one of the Avoxes to bring me a piece of bread and some tea because I had skipped dinner that night. I ate slowly, wished her goodnight, drank my tea and curled up under the down duvet. It moulded to my shape instantly and warmed me, and I started to cry again until my eyes were raw and I didn't have anything left to cry out. Was I really that horrible that Finnick was so disgusted with me?

What must have been a couple of hours later, I heard a knock on the door. An Avox came in.

"Uh, what are you doing… here?" I asked in a hoarse voice, then realising that she couldn't reply. I looked around for something for her to write on but then I realised there was nothing in here and this really wasn't my night. Turns out she was just drawing the curtains I had forgotten to, because it was knocking on nine-thirty.

After she left, I felt my eyes, heavy with tears, drooping.

A crack of light stretched across my pillow as my eyes flickered open. I heard the soft noise of the door sliding open against the carpet, as I stretched to alert, attempting to wake myself up. I was feeling kind of groggy because I had been asleep for a while I was guessing, but it soon cleared because I drank from the water the female Avox left for me. The clock said that it was around midnight.

Now, to the more important things, I turned, on guard, to the door. A silhouette moved through the doorway, the light from the corridor glinting on its hair.  
>"Uh, hey," Finnick said, sitting down at the foot of my bed.<p>

"Anything to say?"  
>"Right off the bat," he chuckled. "I didn't expect that."<p>

He edged up so he was sitting next to me.

"Well… yeah."  
>"Have you been crying?"<br>"No," I said in a shaky voice.  
>"Yes you have."<br>"No I h-haven't. Can you leave now?"

"Sure, whatever. If you feel like talking, then just come to my room."  
>"Uh, thanks," I said, as he picked himself up off of the duvet and walked out of the door. He closed it so gently for someone with such strong hands and I heard his footsteps down the corridor. A gentle rhythm, like his nails on the arm of the sofa earlier, sent me to sleep.<p>

I woke up in the morning and showered. Pressing a few random buttons that I didn't quite understand, I let sponges and exfoliating pads scrub me with a shower gel that was scented with peaches. Jets rinsed all of the pale orange lather off and cleaned my hair until it squeaked and then the warm air gently dried me.

I pinned my fringe back and ran my fingers through my hair. I rummaged through the drawers to find something to wear and settled on a simple pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a baby pink and white V-neck. I dabbed on a hint of the peachy perfume that matched the shower gel and decided to make my way to breakfast.

The dining room was filled with all kinds of delicious Capitol foods – fried potatoes, eggs, meat, soups, stews and the fresh crusty bread I adored so much. Finnick was sat there, his eyes tired and sore, drinking hot chocolate from a huge mug and spearing scrambled eggs onto the end of his fork. I sat opposite him tentatively, taking a small bowl of chicken soup, some fried potatoes and bread.

"So, did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Sort of," I shrugged. "When do we arrive in the Capitol? I'm bored as hell on this stupid train."

"About a day and a half."  
>"Ugh," I groaned. "I'm so claustrophobic here, and the constant jogging of the carriages is making me feel sick."<br>"There's more important things to think about, like, who should we be allies with? And what is our strategy? Not only for the actual games, but for the interviews too."  
>"We need a strategy?"<br>"You didn't have one the first time?"  
>"No, I was just being me."<br>"Explains your lack of sponsors," he chuckled. I glared at him and he continued. "I thought you were pulling off that mysterious and twisted thing."

"Great," I laughed. "You didn't even need one," I thought, thinking of that expensive trident that floated down to him in a silver parachute.

"What did you get from your sponsors?"  
>"I didn't have sponsors."<br>"None? Then how did you win? And why didn't you have any?"

"I won because I was quiet and fast, and I managed to get knives from the Cornucopia. Because I didn't take too much from there, the other kids were busy picking off the ones with lots of supplies, or the strong ones. I had run away whilst they were all still fighting. Then, I just crept up on people whilst they were on their own. Washing, changing, _going to the toilet_," I cringed. He laughed. "I put my hands over their mouths and slit their throats, every time."

"Why didn't you have any sponsors?"  
>"'Cause I was a skinny little kid from a poorer family of District 4, with moderate acne and not too pretty a face. Plus I threw my time with the Gamemakers and got a 3."<br>"A 3?" he said, nervously. He was probably rethinking his offer of friendship before.

"I didn't do anything. Made a hook and sat down humming to myself for the whole fifteen minutes."

"Why?"  
>"Because although the sponsors didn't think I was anything special, neither did the other tributes, and they left me alone because they didn't think I was any danger."<br>"Clever."

"Kind of," I said, finishing the soup. "What are we going to do today?"

"Well, it's about nine," he checked his watch. "I was thinking, I was going to draw out a plan for when we were in the arena, think about what kind of things we need, and who we are going to target. Then lunch, and then we could chill out, you could draw and I could go… do something or whatever," Finnick ended.

"Sounds okay, I guess."

"You guess?"  
>"Thinking about who we're going to target will be hard," I thought, thinking of Beetee and Wiress, and all the other tributes that I could remember.<br>"I suppose," he said. It was unspoken, but I knew what we were both thinking. If we were gonna survive, we might have to kill the other. I didn't know Finnick too well, but the thought of it made me feel sick. Strangely it comforted me to see that he didn't look too good either.

"We'll do it anyway, though," I decided, firmly.

"If you're sure," he said. We finished up the glasses of milk and water and went into the living room, sitting at the table. One of the Avoxes managed to get us a large sketch pad where Finnick wrote down all the names of the second time tributes.

We spent a bit of time writing down the things that we needed – water, food, weapons, allies, medicine. We were interrupted by a familiar face knocking at the door.

"Hi, kids."  
>"H-Haymitch Abernathy?" I asked, recognising the drunken face from the year before where he fell over at the reaping.<p>

"That's me, sweetheart," he pulled up a chair. "Hey, Finnick."  
>"Hi."<br>"We need your help when you go in the arena."  
>"In what? And how did you get on here?" Finnick asked. He seemed a little more informal but then I remembered they probably knew each other.<p>

"You took a fuel stop early in the morning and I got on the platform. I'll switch over again later. In the arena – number one, protect Katniss. Number two, help with the resistance."

"Resistance?"

"It all ends in the Quarter Quell. It ends now. Listen to me and listen well because I'm only going to repeat this once, okay?"

At lunch, we thought about this plan over dark pink beetroot soup.  
>"What do you think? Should we help?" he asked.<p>

"You're actually asking my opinion? What do I know?"  
>"Well… I don't know much either, but I do know that I'm sick of the Capitol and maybe this could actually work."<p>

"I suppose…"  
>"And you do know… stuff – you're intelligent enough."<br>"What?"  
>"I watched your Games… you're pretty intelligent."<br>"If you had time to watch my Games, why didn't you mentor me?"

"For exactly the reasons that I hate the Capitol."  
>"Explanation?"<br>"I'll explain later," he said, as the Avoxes brought in some kind of rich pork stew in a dark pinkish sauce to match the soup. It tasted of sweet tomatoes and chillies and I decided it was now my favourite Capitol food.

"But anyway…"  
>"You're intelligent enough and like it or not, we're allies. So I want your opinion. Are we in?" he said, looking at me. I thought of it for a second.<p>

"Sure, we're in."

In the afternoon, I sat and drew, flowers, scenes from the windows of the train, whatever popped into my head. Finnick tucked his feet underneath the sofa and did sit-ups, hundreds, too many to count – with some out-of-breath conversation.

"Are you not going to work out?" he asked.

"Bit too late now, really. What should I do?"  
>"Build some muscle."<br>"Practically impossible for me. I've been trying to put on a little bit of weight for ages – I can't build anything. Doomed to be a runt," I chuckled, shading in a petal. "Unlike you, Mr. Muscle Man. Look at those abs."  
>"Ha!" he laughed, shooting me a grin. "Anyway, it's not like you're fat at all. You've got a runner's physique anyway, so you don't need to do much."<p>

"So we have to look after Katniss, huh?"  
>"On the bright side…"<br>"There's a bright side?"  
>"We're both going to live. And so will Katniss and Peeta at least. We shall see Mags another day," he said.<p>

"But, this is going to get the Capitol pissed as hell. The living part, are you sure?" I laughed nervously.

"Don't worry. We could fight off the Capitol! They got nothing on us," Finnick said. I knew that he was lying, or maybe just embroidering the truth a little but to be honest. I didn't really care. Seeing as I wasn't one for things like this, I think I wanted to just leave it.

"What's the time?"  
>"Four-ish."<p>

"We have the parade tomorrow, don't we?"  
>"Yup, we get to meet our stylists and prep teams."<br>"I wish I had Cinna. Katniss' dresses have been amazing. How could you beat the girl that was on fire in the parade?"

"I'm sure they'll think up something. Last time, though, I had this old lady and she just put me in swim shorts – that was no fun."  
>"I think I had the same old lady. The one who had like sea-green skin, right?"<br>"It was more forest when I had her, I think. Well, she's not going to be doing us this time," he explained.

"Why not?"  
>"She died on the 71st Hunger Games, and they've been changing around designers and stuff almost every year."<br>"Great. God knows what whack job we'll get stuck with. Probably just drench us in water," I muttered.

"I'm going to go and shower before dinner. I'll talk to you then, okay?" Finnick left the room, the footsteps like the night before making an even rhythm. I sat on the sofa, sketching a landscape, until the Avox came in to tap me on the shoulder and call me into the dining room. I sat, opposite a newly-washed Finnick. He seemed oblivious to the fact he was wearing a tight little vest top and a pair of plaid pyjama pants and you could see every muscle. I looked into my lap to hide the fact I was blushing slightly.

An Avox slipped me a menu.

Starter –

Watercress soup/Goat's cheese tartlet

Fish course –

Spiced marinated fish with sea vegetables/Salmon on a bed of rice

Main course –

Steak béarnaise with fried potatoes/Pasta in a tomato and herb sauce

Dessert –

Chocolate fudge cake and cream/Strawberry cheesecake with fresh strawberries

"Um, I'll have the tartlet, the salmon, the pasta and the cheesecake please," Finnick asked her.  
>"I'll have soup, steak – no fried potatoes – and strawberries please. Just the strawberries. Boy, look at your appetite."<br>"Look at your lack of one. Is something up?"

"Not particularly," I said.

We chatted endlessly over the food as evening drew on into night. Suddenly, I felt ill and rushed into the bathroom, where I proceeded to see everything I had eaten that day all over again. I mean, I don't mind Capitol food but I don't need to taste it twice. I knelt in a cold sweat over the bowl of the toilet. It automatically flushed.  
>"Cheers. Thanks for that," I said. Maybe the sickness made me want to talk to inanimate objects. Brilliant.<p>

I walked into my own bedroom and then the bathroom drowsily, running my hands through my hair which was now matted and damp from the cold sweat. I pressed some random buttons in the shower so the jets alternated between really warm and really cold, which kind of woke me up. Exfoliating pads rubbed me with sandalwood oils and vanilla shower gel until I didn't feel ill anymore. I washed my hair and stepped out of the shower, looking at myself in the slightly misted mirror until the mist went.

Great, Harper, you look amazing. The pads in the shower have scrubbed you red raw and blotchy, your hair looks scraggly and unordered and your eyes look watery, squinted even. Also where you're not red, you look feeble and pale from the vomit earlier. Sort yourself out before you even speak to anyone. Especially Finnick. No, wait, why especially Finnick? What's so special about- oh God no. Seriously, sort yourself out.

I rinsed my face with ice water, pinched my cheeks and brushed my hair and teeth. I then put on a white nightdress and some white slippers and checked the time. About eight. The carpet bouncing under my feet, I went through the carriages into the living room, where Finnick was sitting watching the television mindlessly.

"Hey. Sorry for that," I apologized.

"Oh yeah, sorry for being ill," he mocked. "I went into the kitchen and asked them what was wrong."  
>"I thought we weren't allowed in the kitchen."<br>"Well, we aren't, but anyway, I went in the kitchen and it turns out the meat gave you some kind of weird fast-acting food poisoning. You're gonna have to eat a big breakfast tomorrow to get your strength back up, they said."

"Great," I said, rubbing my stomach.  
>"But you're okay, right?"<br>"I'm fine," I said. "What are they showing?"  
>"That crappy soap opera again. It's not much, but it's better than usual."<br>"I'm so tired," I said, rubbing my eyes.

"Go to sleep then."  
>"It's too early. If I sleep now, I won't sleep through the night and then I'll be up too early and tired again, oh God, this is a vicious cycle, then I'll be tired in training and get an awful score and then no-one will sponsor us…"<br>"Way to over-react," he laughed.  
>"Hmph."<br>"And anyway," he smirked, putting an arm around me, "it's only you that would lose sponsors. Not a problem with me."

"Hmph."  
>"Cheer up, trouble," he carried on laughing.<br>"Why are you laughing?"

"Because you're funny."  
>"Hmph."<br>"Stop stropping," he said. "I'll go."  
>"No, don't go. I'm tired."<br>"Then isn't it a good thing that I go?"  
>"No, because you need to keep me awake for a bit."<br>"Okay then, come here and we'll watch some TV?"

He held open his arms and I settled myself with my head on his chest to watch some TV.

I woke up with the same groggy feeling in my head and heavy eyelids that I had the morning before.  
>Oh my God, Harper, you're laying on Finnick Odair's chest. The infamous Finnick Odair, the one that every girl in your district, no, in the country continually lusts over. Even Mags probably wouldn't say no to Finnick Odair, and you're laid on his god damn freaking CHEST. I screamed a minute and then clapped my hand over my mouth.<p>

"F-Finnick, are you still asleep?"  
>"Not anymore," he said grudgingly. "But yes, yes I was."<br>"I'm so sorry for falling asleep."  
>"I fell asleep before you," he said, rubbing his eyes.<br>"Oh. Hahaha," I said. "What's the time?"  
>"Do you always need to know the time?"<br>"Always."

"It's around nine."  
>"Crap! We need to get up, like now, we must be so near to the Capitol!"<br>"We have an hour or so yet, I guess."  
>"I think I should go and get dressed."<br>"Uh, okay then…"  
>"You're not going to?"<br>"All the prep team tend to do is undress me anyway," he winked.

What is with all this flirting? Or is it not? Jesus.

"I wonder what they'll put me in."  
>"I'll meet you at the chariot, trouble," he said, and wandered off to his bedroom. I blushed again. Things were getting very weird.<p> 


	3. Chapter 2

When the train pulled into the Capitol and I stepped off, my prep team rushed over to me so fast you would have thought they had been waiting for a millennium (or at least a good few hours either way). They came over and stood so close you also would have thought that they were trying to hide me from the rest of the world and that was probably true.

"When they told me we were getting a young girl from District 4, I didn't expect her to be so _plain_," said the first of them, the tallest with pale purple skin, looking down her pointed nose at me. Apart from the varying skin tones (the tallest was purple, the shortest was pale blue and the one in the middle was a rosy pink) they looked almost identical, with long ashy blonde curls and big blue eyes.

"We're triplets," the shortest said in explanation. I realised I was gawping a little bit – they were all so beautiful. "My name is Callista."  
>"Calabria," said the tallest, still with her arms crossed and contempt written across her face.<p>

"I-I'm Celestia," said the one in the centre, brushing one curl out of her baby pink face and looking down at the floor shyly. I decided I liked the quiet one and the short and bubbly one best.

"We're here to make you beautiful!" said Callista, flinging out her arms happily.

"That's a job and a half."  
>"Shut up, Bri. I think you're pretty, in your own way!" she continued, embracing me tightly. I wasn't sure whether this was a compliment or an insult. "There's a little term we use in the beauty industry – it's called beauty base zero."<p>

"W-What's that?"  
>"We're gonna have to strip you down before we can make you back up again, so we're going to scrub you within an inch of your life!" Now I wasn't sure whether to be scared or not so I decided to just go with it for now.<p>

First they immersed me in this hot bath with sandalwood and vanilla like the shower from the day before. I wanted to stay in it and relax but they yanked me out before I had a chance and Callista scrubbed me – as she said – within an inch of my life, plucking, waxing and exfoliating. Unlike the day before, my skin just looked clean and clear without any like, weird blotches and marks. I was dried and moisturised from head to toe.

I was put in a white cotton robe whilst Celestia started to work with my hair. She didn't say a word for the whole thing, and she may have been painfully shy but she had the nimblest fingers I had ever seen. Soon she had worked my hair into an intricate updo. She parted and pulled back the top half my hair and made sort of bump at the back, and gently curled the rest of it, letting a couple of tousled pieces frame my face. She then studded in some gold-painted rosebuds.

Calabria, as grudgingly as it was, started to work on my face. She first off applied some sort of cool, soothing cream to my skin that made it all even and glowy. She lined my eyes with a black pencil and then used a creamier pencil to apply a gold colour to my eyelids. Adding natural-looking black fake eyelashes, she almost glued my eyes shut because I kept sort of twitching from her hands being so close to my eyes. They wouldn't let me look in a mirror.

"It'll ruin the final effect!" grinned Callista, hugging me again but taking care not to nudge my hair or ruin my make-up.

"Suppose it's an improvement," sniffed Calabria.

"G-Good luck in there, Harper," said Celestia quietly, looking at the floor again. I hugged her because she looked so pained, and they all were silent for a minute.

"Yeah, we're rooting for you," said Calabria, suddenly cracking into a smile.

"I'm so excited to see you kick some ass!" said Callista, smiling from ear-to-ear. I had nothing to do but smile.

They pushed me into the next room.

"Hello," said a slightly older woman. "My name's Adriana, and my partner Helius and I will be dressing you and Finnick."  
>"Hey, I'm Harper," I smiled in what I hoped was an attractive way. After Cinna and Portia's year of success, I guess that they were hiring more couples to style us.<p>

"Now, I have an interesting concept for you. Basically, you'll see what Helius is doing with Finnick, but to start with our colour is gold, as you can probably see from your hair and eyes. I want you to step into these tights a moment, and then I'll show you your dress," she said, flinging me a pair of golden fishnet tights which I wriggled into obediently whilst she brought in a covered hanger from another room.

She unveiled this absolute beauty – a pale golden strapless dress, with a sequinned top that came down to my waist and a sheer silky skirt that went down to my mid-thigh. The skirt was shaped so I actually looked like I had small curves and Adriana clipped on these pale gold stilettos about three inches high to match. She then turned me around and uncovered the mirror that was hiding under a black dust sheet.

I gasped. The girl in the mirror was nothing like the scrawny plain girl that was projected on the screens back in Four. This girl had pretty hair, soft waves with pretty flowers - my eyes sparkled with gold, outlined in black with pearly skin. She had a dress that suited her and long, shapely legs with dainty hands and feet. Pretty, but threatening. I liked it – I liked it a lot.

"Do you like it?"  
>"I love it!"<br>"Do you something from the district to represent Four?"  
>"Um, I do have this," I said, pulling out a necklace, which was actually gold, a fine chain with a key on it.<p>

"I have an idea. We can work with this," Adriana said, fastening it. She grabbed something from her drawer and rushed down the corridor, leaving me waiting. She came back five minutes later.

"An idea?"  
>"You'll see in a minute. Now it's out to the chariots, time to go, chop chop," she put her arm around me and guided me outside. It was warm so I didn't feel too cold, and I walked to the chariot with the 4 on it – a golden 4 – and leant against it. People were talking to each other, but I didn't really need to talk.<p>

Finnick came over to me.

"Oh m-my…" I said. He was wearing a strategically knotted golden net with only pretty much covered his groin. I felt a flush spreading to my cheeks already and I only hoped that the cream had covered it.  
>"I know, it's… different, right? I seem to always have next to nothing on.<br>"Seems to win the sponsors, eh?"

"I like your dress, trouble," he snaked his hand around my waist, assumingly to feel the fabric.

I let out a noise which was meant to attractive and ended up like a cough. Since when were we flirty? I don't know, but I wasn't going to change it. I think I had a minor crush but I vowed not to let it affect me in the games.

"Watch this," he smirked. "Katniss is so incredibly… chaste. This'll freak her out a bit."

I watched intently as he walked over to the District 12 carriage, grabbing a handful of sugar cubes from someone feeding the horses as he did. He looked her up and down and I could see her growing uncomfortable. He went and put her hands on her collar and then lent into her, so close to her lips he could probably tell what she last ate. Was he just annoying her now? Or was he doing more than trying to get her hot and bothered?

He's so close to her he could kiss her without moving his face. Suddenly, Peeta Mellark appears and starts walking towards me. I guess he didn't notice Finnick and Katniss because he started talking like we were old friends.

"Harper, right?"  
>"Harper Quinn."<p>

"Peeta Mellark."  
>"Don't we all know that? Ha, so how are you doing?"<br>"Pretty well. I've come to ask for your help."  
>"My help?"<br>"Help me protect Katniss."

_"No matter what, Harper. Don't tell Katniss OR Peeta about this plan or they'll screw it all up by trying too hard. They've got that whole star-crossed lover thing going on already and they don't need to muck it up by laying it on too thick. Plus they might mention it, or do something generally obvious and stupid. They'll probably say something about plans of their own but just go with it. Trust me."_

"How exactly?"  
>"Leave her 'til last in your pickings."<br>"So you can kill me?" Might as well act natural, Harper.  
>"We won't kill you. We'll find an alliance somehow. I haven't got it all figured out yet. I have to go now, looks like Finnick's going." So he did notice.<p>

Finnick came sauntering over, tossing a sugar cube into his mouth as he did.

"You should have seen her face," he laughed. "She's so pure; she probably had her first kiss last year. She was blushing like crazy."  
>"Hmph."<br>"What?"  
>"Hmph."<br>"Don't do this again."  
>"Okay."<br>"What's up?"  
>"Nothing!"<p>

"Are you jealous?"

"No, not at all," I leant against the chariot, folding my arms. Going over to her carriage, was Johanna Mason, young and beautiful with spiky hair and big brown eyes. She was dressed as a tree – not the best idea in the world but it still made her look hot. Finnick started checking her out instantly. Was there no end to this?

"You're jealous," he laughed. "All I did was offer a sugar cube," he popped one into his mouth, licking his lips. Leaning in closer, he continued in a seductive whisper until he was as close as he had been with Katniss. "And I asked to know a couple secrets. How about you, golden girl, would you tell me a couple of your secrets if I asked?"  
>"I've got nothing to tell."<br>"That's what Katniss said, but the difference is, I think she was telling the truth. Your eyes say there's something you're not spilling."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said. I decided to try and turn the tables. "If I had any secrets to tell, we could always do a trade," I purred, turning so he was the one leaning on the chariot and I was in power. I could look up from under my eyelashes here because I was a little shorter than him.

"T-Trade what?"

"I'll tell you my secrets, you tell me yours."

"Are you sure you couldn't do a more interesting trade?" he said. Power change number two. He pulled me closer with his arms around my waist like they were earlier, and I could feel myself blushing.  
>"Well, sure, I don't see why not. What do you propose?"<br>"Well I'm a-burning up, trouble," he said in a fake thick Four accent, chuckling.  
>"The funny thing is, you think you're joking," I put a cool hand to his flushed cheeks, which burned even more under my touch.<p>

"Everyone in chariots, now please!" said a co-ordinator with a microphone headset on, rushing around shadowed by Effie Trinket. We sprang apart and Finnick jumped up onto the chariot, giving me a hand up.

"Come on, trouble, let's show them Four," he said, grabbing my hand and smiling, waving to the crowds as we began to move.

"Finnick."  
>"What?"<br>"I feel slightly travel-sick," I felt every bump of the chariot, my stomach turning with each one.

"Come here," he held me close. The citizens of the Capitol started ooh-ing and aah-ing at us together as we started moving on the circuit route.

"Push me away," he said.  
>"What? No, I feel sick," I muttered, trying not to falter from my smile.<p>

"Do it, I promise you it will work."  
>"Work for what?"<br>"Trust me."

I pushed him off of me and held my head high and throughout the circuit we played a romantic comedy scene of triumphs and rebuttals. The crowd lapped it up and the only other pair of tributes that managed to get as many cheers and rounds of applause that we did were the star-crossed lovers of District 12, Peeta and Katniss. At the end of the circuit, we went to the Training Centre to see our rooms.

We let Johanna, Katniss and Peeta take the first lift. Through the misted glass, we could see the silhouette of Johanna's naked body as she chatted to Peeta. The light of his outfit reflected against her body as she touched his arm. I could only imagine how Katniss felt as Peeta looked at Johanna's pert body. Kind of how I felt when I turned to see Finnick watching intently and smirking.

"Will you stop checking out Johanna?"  
>"What? Why? Who wouldn't check out Johanna?"<br>"I wouldn't check out Johanna."

"You're a little girl."  
>"A little girl?" I spluttered. "A little girl?"<br>"I'm sorry."  
>"Hmph."<br>"You know, you have a temper and a half, sweetheart. I'd be careful if I were you – Odair here's a pretty good ally to have on your side," said Haymitch, walking up beside us.  
>"I am," said Finnick.<br>"Don't be arrogant."  
>"He's just stating facts. You're like my couple, but with more fire and more… spite," spat Haymitch. "There's something there, but isn't she a fierce one?" he laughed, patting Finnick on the arm when the lift reached the twelfth floor and started to return.<p>

We got in the lift and stayed in silence until we reached the fourth floor.  
>"You're really something else," I muttered.<br>"Something sexy?"  
>"Something else," I corrected, going into my bedroom. I slipped off the dress and key necklace, unpinned my hair and wiped off my make-up until I was just regular Harper Quinn.<p>

I got into the shower, showered quickly and got dressed in a light grey cashmere sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans. Sweaters and jeans, if you hadn't already guessed, are my preferred form of dress. I walked into the dining room and sat there, was Finnick in a pair of slacks and a checkered shirt over a tee. Well, this was awkward. The Avoxes served us chicken breast, potatoes and vegetables in a buttery sauce. As always, I tried not to catch their eye. Finnick thought I was trying to avoid his.

"I'm sorry," we chorused.  
>"What are you sorry for?" I asked.<p>

"Saying you're a little girl."  
>"I am pretty little," I shrugged. "I'm sorry for having a temper and being an asshole and getting mad when you check out Johanna."<br>"Why was that again?"  
>"I don't know."<p>

He ate silently.

"You're jealous again."  
>"No I'm not, I just think Johanna's too good for you," I said coolly.<p>

"Too good for me?"  
>"Of course. She's pretty and she's smart."<br>"Harper, you know you think I'm both of those things."  
>"Yeah, you're real pretty. How do you get your hair to do that flip thing? And you're so skilled with that mascara."<br>"Ooh, burn. I meant hot."

"Course you did."

"Sh, trouble, let's just go back to how we were, we have training tomorrow. And eat something, seriously, you skipped lunch you still need to regain your strength after they screwed up with the food poisoning yesterday," he said. "Haymitch is right, you have a temper and a half."  
>"Hm. What's the time?"<br>"It's around quarter to seven."  
>"How did time go so fast?"<br>"I know, just think, soon we'll be in the training room."  
>"I wonder what I'll do in there."<br>"Train?"  
>"Why are you so funny? Splitting my sides here."<p>

Things were awkward now. I finished up a peach whilst Finnick continued talking about the other tributes and then went into the living room.

"They're replaying the 74th," I cringed. "That was so gross."  
>"I know, especially the tracker jackers."<br>"I cried so hard when Rue died."  
>"So did I."<br>"Aw, aren't you adorable?"

"Aw, shucks," he pulled a stupidly cute face. I burst out laughing.

"You're such an idiot," I said, crying with laughter as he blew a kiss and flipped his hair.

"An adorable idiot, honey."  
>"Don't call me honey?"<br>"Sugar?"  
>"No."<br>"Sweetheart?"  
>"No, you sound like Haymitch."<br>"Baby?"  
>"I'm not your baby."<br>"Gorgeous?"  
>"Ew."<br>"Cutie pie?"  
>"That's disgusting."<br>"Baby cakes?"

"Even worse than baby. Stop. Call me Harper."

You missed one out, Finnick. The one little term that kinda makes my heart skip a beat.  
>"Sure thing, trouble." Yup, that's the one. An Avox walked in with a telegram for me.<p>

"Hi, Harry. It's your father speaking. I don't know if I'm speaking, or it's written or whatever. I don't know how to use this thing. Mags is writing down what I say. She's more technologically… knowing than I am. I'm giving you a telemagram-"  
>"Wait, what is a telemagram?"<p>

"I don't know, he's my dad. I'm giving you a telemagram to send you luck and all my best wishes. I don't even think this is even allowed. But I'll do it anyway. Let's do this, Harry, all the best luck."

"Harry, huh?"

"That's what my dad calls me."  
>"Harry. It sounds boyish."<br>"Exactly why it suits me."

"Hmph, okay then. Anyway, telegrams aren't allowed."

"I think he mentioned that. They must have been sweet or something, to let this on the train."  
>"One rule for Harper, one rule for everyone else, eh?"<br>"Oh shut up. It must be getting late now anyway."  
>"You do realise that there are no clocks in the arena, right? You have to get over this weird thing now before you're in there."<p>

"Whatever you say. Are you ready for training? I'm going to bed."


	4. Chapter 3

In our training outfits, the next day we made our way down to the Training Centre after breakfast for our first day of training. They had set up all manner of stations for this one, camouflage, edible plants, archery, spear-throwing, sword-fighting, wrestling, hook-making, weaving and all other kinds of stations for us to try our hand at. When we were allowed to go, Finnick rushed straight over to wrestling, stripping down and oiling up.

Why is he going over to wrestling? Oh, who's that? Johanna freaking Mason. Getting naked and rubbing herself with GOD DAMN OIL. Oh and I'll have to pretend that she doesn't _completely _annoy me in the arena if this rebellion thing is ever going to work. Well, I'll just go over to… camouflage, and try not to piss off Katniss in the process.

"Hey Peeta," I said, dipping my finger in red berry dye and looking in a mirror.  
>"Hey, Harper," he grinned.<br>"Wow, you're good at this," I turned around to look at him as he painted himself in all different colours, each one more perfect than the last. His arms were painted in stripes of different landscapes. I took the opportunity to grab his bicep, where a particularly well-painted grassy patch was. "I like this one best."

"I think it was too grassy last year, for it to be grassy this year. I think this is how it'll be," he said, dipping one finger in blue. He cupped my chin and started painting delicately on my face – painting some kind of shades of purple and aqua and glints of sun across one cheek in yellow. I knew it was innocent, and I knew that he meant nothing by it, but I also knew it would drive Finnick mad so I lifted up my face to look into the blue in his eyes. Damn, Harper, why are you so evil?

"That alliance is on," I whispered. "I've got your back."  
>"How about Finnick?"<br>"I don't speak for Finnick. I speak for me. Am I not allowed in the alliance?"  
>"I didn't mean it like that. It's better if you are both with us because Finnick just works better when he's got something to protect."<br>"Like the future of Panem?"  
>"Like a good friend. A really… good friend."<br>"Well then, you should ask him. I'll see you around, Mellark," I winked, wiping the beautiful blue sea from my cheeks with a towel. Finnick was staring whilst Johanna practically wrestled with a bottle of oil. I walked over to the spear-throwing station, even though I knew I was perfectly good at throwing – I throw knives. Finnick was practicing throwing a trident – that was clearly put there for him to practice with.

I picked up a few thin knives and started throwing them at the target.

"You want to watch out," said Finnick sternly. "Katniss gets a little jealous."  
>"I'm sure <em>Katniss <em>does. Have fun _wrestling _with Johanna?"  
>"It was great. She really taught me a lot." Don't get mad. Don't get mad.<p>

"Hm, that's interesting. Peeta was saying something…"  
>"Yeah, cool."<br>"About an alliance. I told him that I was in the alliance."

"Making our decisions for us both now, are you?"  
>"And I said that I wasn't speaking for you. He said that he was interested in us being in the alliance as a pair because…"<br>"Why?"  
>"JESUS, ODAIR, LET ME FREAKING FINISH! Because he said that you worked better when you were protecting something. Like a friend, a really good friend."<br>"Ah… interesting."  
>"So?"<br>"So what?"  
>"Who's the really good friend?"<br>"I don't know. Katniss?"  
>"You met Katniss yesterday."<br>"I honestly don't know what he's talking about."

"Are you coming with me?"  
>"Where are you going?"<br>"I don't know, edible plants? Knot tying?"  
>"You can tie knots perfectly well."<br>"Edible plants it is."

"Why do I need plants when you're good enough to eat?" he turned, winking and biting the air playfully. I laughed. He was so ridiculous it was hilarious.

We sat down at this station, looking at a board with various illustrations, and examples passed to us of different kinds of flowers, roots and seeds. I was allowed to eat most plants with green roots and most plants with yellow flowers but never the two together. Nightlock was kind of a given – bit simple, isn't it? I was kind of hoping that there was fish or something in the arena. I can fish perfectly well. I can't identify petals.

At lunch, after weaving nets and making hooks for a little while to relax, I went into the cafeteria to eat. Me, Finnick, Seeder, Chaff, Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Beetee and Wiress all ate at one table together because everyone sort of shoved the tables into one big group. This was different. At the 67th, no-one would talk to each other – now everyone was sort of friendly. I tried not to talk and there wasn't really anything I fancied to eat.

"I miss my parents," said Peeta.  
>"I miss Prim," said Katniss.<p>

"I miss my daughters," added Seeder.

"I miss my friends," said Chaff, eating a piece of beef.

"I miss my…" Wiress began.

"Family," ended Beetee.

"Who do you miss, Harper?"  
>"Huh?" I awoke from my daydream to see Finnick looking at me.<br>"Who do you miss?"  
>"Oh… I miss Mags."<br>"Me too, I miss Mags," Finnick smiled nostalgically. Seeing as Mags won ages ago, I was pretty sure most people knew who she was apart from Katniss and Peeta. They all joined in.  
>"Is she okay after her stroke?" Seeder asked.<br>"She's recovering really well actually. She can speak like she's never had one."  
>"What?" Katniss asked.<br>"Mags had a stroke a couple of years ago," Finnick replied.

"No, I mean, the recovery bit. I spoke to her just once on the Victory Tour and I couldn't understand a word that she said – was she not recovering then?"  
>"No, she recovered within a few months, it was amazing. Was she talking like this?" he asked, putting on the strongest District 4 accent I'd ever heard. I began to laugh then realised no-one else knew what he was talking about. I took a minute to take in all the different accents at the table.<p>

Katniss and Peeta had a laidback drawl whereas Seeder and Chaff brought this to the point where they actually omitted some letters. I think the similar accents were because District 12 and District 11 are nearby but apart from tributes meeting each other or hearing someone talking to the camera in the Games, we heard no other accents but our own and the Capitol accent. Johanna had a young-sounding, old-fashioned accent that made everything sound like a question. Beetee and Wiress had a soft accent with every word enunciated perfectly. They were all so different and I hadn't even noticed.

I was still laughing at Finnick's accent from Four. He was prattling on about fish and boats and all kinds of other stupid stuff and what made it funnier was the fact that the other people on the table were looking at him like he had recently gone completely insane.

"You say your 'o' funny," said Johanna.  
>"It's just the way we are. I think we should be able to talk about our districts and what we miss from them too. Come on, you first District 12 kids," Finnick laughed, eating the stew. Katniss began.<p>

"District 12 is home. When we're eighteen we're sent into the coal mines. Food is kind of scarce so people trade at the Hob, it's sort of a black market. It would be shut down if the Peacemakers didn't go there more than we did," she laughed. "I miss Prim and my mother and my house. Not the one in the Victor's Village, my old one with a cracking roof and a cracking fire. I miss Gale and hunting and the fence that's never electrified. That's District 12 to me."  
>"Twelve is burnt bread and dusty ground and unpredictable weather. It's being a laughing stock but not caring, and everyone knowing everyone and everyone's business. I live on the merchant street so I don't know it as well as Katniss and I've never been near the supposedly electrified fence… I miss my parents, and school and my friends. Next should be… Johanna," Peeta chose. I just knew Katniss was not pleased with this choice.<p>

"District 7 is not seeing the sky for the trees and wielding an axe before you can wield a rattle," she grinned, reminiscing. "It's leaves everywhere and in your hair and in your clothes, and picnics. Idyllically but that's not really true – I think I miss District 7's work ethic because no-one ever stops working there and they're proud of what they do. Next I pick… Beetee and Wiress. Go on, Wiress."  
>"Wiress is really shy so I'll talk," Beetee said. "District 3 is technology and sleek, smooth lines. It's intelligent people and long black hair and being stuck between all the Career districts whilst not having anyone volunteer to go into the Games. I miss everything being computerized and being able to invent things and having freedom. I miss my family – I miss them all. Next, Seeder and Chaff," he picked the two District 11 tributes.<p>

"District 11 is climbing trees when you start school and apples being everywhere no matter what season it is. It's clocking off and pretty songs and mockingjays and Peacemakers and guns and electrified fences that actually are electrified. It's about contrast between pretty meadow and armed watchtower. I miss my daughters, my beautiful, beautiful daughters."  
>"District 11 is huge trees and getting hit on the head with an apple and spending all day picking fruit. It's lakes and remembering my childhood – before the Games – and those damn Peacemakers that seem to run everything from how you work to how you think. I miss all my friends and going down to a tavern and talking until the morning. Obviously, we have to go back to you, Finnick seeing as you started it all."<p>

"For me, District 4 is salt in the air and fish, it's being out on a boat and swimming with your parents," he winced at this part. "I like the seaweed and the nets draping everywhere and the people."  
>"The people?" Peeta asked. "Well, no-one in District 4 is ugly, that's a fact."<br>"I meant charming girls and funny guys and the sense of humour and the accent. District 4 is pretty too, nice scenery and stuff. It's quiet… I miss… well, I'm going to admit that I don't really have anyone to miss." This earned a sympathetic sigh from the table. "Harper?"

"To me, District 4 is glassy lakes, little wooden boats and home comforts. I like fresh-baked bread, seeing little girls in straw hats and the feel of smooth pebbles under my feet. I miss my dad and I miss Mags."  
>"No lover boy?" Chaff asked, chuckling.<br>"No lover boy," I replied. Seeder leant over to Chaff and whispered something in his ear.  
>"I see."<br>"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Katniss asked her. Seeder laughed and nodded.  
>"Am I missing something?" I asked.<p>

"Not exactly."  
>"I'm curious."<br>"I'll tell you later," Seeder said. I liked Seeder, she was maternal and comforting and she reminded me of the mother I never really had.

The rest of lunch passed uneventfully and we returned into the Training Centre to do some more training in the afternoon. I spent it showing Seeder how to make hooks (I decided to let her in on this and although I was kind of against showing other people how to kill me I trusted her) and in return she taught me how to make fires from almost everything, a skill I hadn't learnt that well (the 67th was so hot I could cook things on flat rocks and I didn't need fires for anything else).

At about five-thirty, we clocked off for the day and I went to wait by the lift for Seeder. She hobbled over and her abnormal gait alerted me to the fact that I could teach her all I want and she still probably wasn't going to kill me. Standing next to me, she mumbled a greeting and didn't say anything else.

"Seeder?"  
>"What, dear?"<br>"You were going to tell me about what happened at lunch?"  
>"What did happen at lunch, dear?"<br>"When Chaff asked me if I had a 'lover boy', you leant over and said something and Katniss agreed, Peeta smiled and everyone knew but me."  
>"Oh, yes I remember that now."<br>"So?"  
>"So what?"<br>"So what was it all about?"

"Would you like me to give you a piece of advice?"  
>"Very much."<br>"In cases of romance it seems that everyone else knows apart from the people themselves. Someday they'll get the nudge it takes and finally realise."  
>"That's pretty cryptic," I said, confused. She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Do you mind if me and Chaff take this lift? He's a pretty big guy."<br>"No problem," I said and sat wondering about what she had said.

"Hello, trouble," Finnick said, sitting next to me and ruffling my hair.

"Finnick, what do you think this means?"  
>"What?"<br>"You know, that's one of your bad habits?  
>"What?"<br>"Stop doing it! Wait until someone's completely done talking before speaking, not just a sentence."  
>"You sound like a mother."<p>

"Anyway, what do you think this means? In cases of romance it seems that everyone else knows apart from the people themselves. Someday they'll get the nudge it takes and finally realise," I quoted Seeder.

"Isn't it obvious?"  
>"I don't see it."<br>"It's about Katniss and Peeta."  
>"They're obviously in love, there's no doubt about it."<br>"To start with, Katniss seemed fake, it seemed put on for the cameras – you saw how surprised she was when he admitted he liked her… Now as time goes on I think it's getting real and I don't think even she notices it."

"I suppose," I nodded. They probably didn't want to provoke me into jealousy in front of those two but something still smelt fishy. Not District 4 fishy, but still fishy.

By the time I actually reached my room it was almost six o'clock and I was absolutely exhausted. All I wanted to do was shower and then go to sleep but an Avox with a menu came into the room to call me for dinner.

"I'll eat later."  
>I showered for what seemed like forever, remembering the button for vanilla and sandalwood, attempting to let the hot water and the steam wash away all the tiredness and confusion from that day. After I came out, I changed into my favourite nightdress, brushed through my hair and walked into the dining room. Waiting at the table was an unwashed Finnick wearing a Training Centre uniform. As I walked in his stomach rumbled with uncanny timing.<p>

"Have you been waiting?"  
>"Around half an hour."<br>"You didn't have to."  
>"I haven't talked to you properly that much today, I wanted to at least talk over dinner."<br>"Well, aren't you adorable?"

The Avox came in with a menu.

"We'll _both_ have lentil soup, chicken and rice and then chocolate mousse," Finnick said.  
>"I'm not that hungry."<br>"You didn't eat lunch and you're going into the arena in a couple of days. Shut up and eat or your ribs will show."  
>"Fine. Anyway, how was your first day of training?"<p>

"It was good-ish. I like Johanna and Peeta. I like Katniss too. Seeder, Chaff, Beetee and Wiress are cute and the best thing is that all of them are in on the rebellion. It was kind of tiring though, I didn't learn much. I didn't feel like I could concentrate," he explained, as the Avox waitresses bought in lentil soup. I dipped my spoon in tentatively as a hungry Finnick gulped down mouthfuls.

"I'm not quite sure about Johanna. She seems dubious."  
>"She's in everything for the right reasons and she's nice enough."<br>"You mean her body is nice enough," I spat.  
>"Oh, shut up, you're like my old crabby wife."<br>"Are you saying you're my old perverted husband?"  
>"Who knows what the future holds?" he winked again. Even as an old, perverted husband, he still made my knees go weak.<p>

"I've decided something," I said, swallowing a mouthful.  
>"And what's that?"<br>"I despise lentils," I said, edging the warm liquid away from me. The foul taste was still left in my mouth so I washed it with water. "They taste… awful."  
>"This soup is good," he grinned.<p>

"Anyway, I like Seeder, Chaff, Beetee, Peeta and Wiress. I think the only things Katniss and I have in common are the rebellion and the fact that we're both a little suspicious of Johanna," I laughed.  
>"It's 'cause you both have sexy guys that like – my very old friend by the way – the sexy Johanna," he smiled in his best sexy pose, which was quite frankly awful. Finnick was most definitely hot enough and then some, but it didn't feel right when it was forced.<p>

"Sexy Johanna, eh? Just 'cause she always gets out her breasts."  
>"Just 'cause she has breasts instead of a skinny little body like you. You have to ask yourself honestly which one a man would rather have," he retorted, smiling. I gasped.<p>

"Harsh," I said. "You know what? I'm not hungry, I think I'll just go back and sleep because I'm really tired, today was kind of draining."  
>"Harper!"<p>

I went into my room. I really need to work on my temper because I know that he doesn't mean half the things that he says but I'm hot-headed nonetheless. Lying on the bed, I felt my eyelids growing heavy as I thought through all of the things that I had done today. I vowed to make more of an effort training tomorrow. _You can do it, Harper; this rebellion is going to work. Just work hard training and you'll be able to take care of yourself in the arena._

I turned around to look at the clock. It was about ten past seven - still too early to go to sleep but too late to do anything worthwhile. I remained curled up on my bed, waiting for the inevitable knock on the door that would follow the little spat at the dinner table. Sure enough it came, just at around eight.  
>"Can I come in?"<p>

I remained in silence.

"Harper? Can I come in? Are you okay?" Finnick continued, rapping on the door continuously and then just pushing it open and coming in anyway.

"What do you want?"  
>"I want to apologize."<br>"There's nothing to apologize for."  
>"Of course there is. You don't need people telling you that there's something wrong with you and I can't blame you for getting annoyed at a time like this."<br>"I'm working on my temper."  
>"Well, maybe you could work on your temper and I could work on not provoking you," he chuckled, sitting next to me on the bed, where I was now propped up against the pillows.<p>

"I'm not going to tell you not to say what you think, that's not my place, I'm not your mother."  
>"But I didn't mean to say it like that."<br>"The meaning will always be the same."  
>"Why are you bothered anyway?"<br>"What do you mean?"

"At home, there were a couple of boys who liked you so you have to know that you're not exactly ugly and when you went into the arena at the 67th and the sponsors turned their noses up, you didn't care and you won anyway. You didn't get pissed off because no-one would send you gifts, you just did what you had to do and get on with it. Now suddenly if I say something like that it's like I've come and slapped you around the face."

"I don't know."

"Well, neither do I, that's why I asked."  
>"When I was in the arena, it didn't matter that people looked down on me because I didn't need them – they weren't my friends, they were just random rich people with funny accents that took delight in bloodshed."<br>"Yeah?"  
>"And here, you, you guys, you feel like friends and that's something I don't have too many of. You must know a victor's life is a lonely one. When people say things like that, I feel like there's no friendship there," I concluded. Finnick spluttered.<p>

"So you think that we're not friends because I said Johanna has a nice body?" he frowned. I glared at him. "That's rubbish. You know we're really good friends already, otherwise why would I wait for you to wash up before I ate just so I could talk to you? Why would I make sure you didn't throw up on the chariots and try to make you feel better even though it's always me that puts you in the bad mood?"  
>"I d-don't know."<p>

"Plus I'm pretty sure you know that I think you're better than Johanna, so you don't need to worry about that. Can we make a pact?"  
>"A pact?"<br>"A pact."  
>"A pact?"<br>"Yes, a pact."  
>"I know, I mean, what kind of pact?"<br>"Yesterday and on the train, we were perfect. We got along well and we said we'd protect each other and we drove the Capitol crazy with our chariot comedy. I'll try and stop annoying you and you'll try and stop kicking off and we will work together and we'll make allies and we'll forget everything that happened today. Promise?"  
>"Hmph. Promise."<br>"Are you too tired to argue?"  
>"What's the time?"<br>"Seriously, stop with the time thing. It's only about quarter to nine, are you that tired? Do you want to go to sleep?"  
>"Mm," I nodded.<p>

"Well if you really want to," he said, getting underneath the covers next to me.

"Finnick?"  
>"Mm?"<br>"What are you doing?"  
>"Going to sleep, what does it look like?"<br>"This is my bed."  
>"Are you cold?"<br>"Yes."

He pulled me closer until my head was on his chest like it was on the train. I felt the heavy eyelids from before return as I felt his arms close tightly around me.

"You don't mind, do you?" I asked him.  
>"I thought you were the one who minded. At the moment, I don't think I'd rather be anywhere than here."<p> 


	5. Chapter 4

I woke up in the morning still in his arms and wishing that I could go back to sleep.  
>"Good morning," Finnick said, ruffling my bed head. I was going to protest and then I remembered the vow.<br>"What time is it?" I asked, instinctively.  
>"It's around five."<br>"That early? Can we go back to sleep?"

"I don't think I could sleep anymore," he laughed. "We have slept for about eight hours."  
>"Not enough," I said, like a small child.<br>"Go back to sleep, then."  
>"I'm awake now."<br>"Are you tired?"  
>"I'll say."<p>

"Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?" he asked. I giggled. He looked a bit hurt so I was guessing he was serious.  
>"Yes please."<p>

_The tide drew in, oh can't you see_

_My sweet love, please wait for me_

_A thousand waves on a choppy sea_

_I'm sick, my love, please rescue me_

"I remember this song," I said sleepily. It was an old lullaby, a sea shanty from back in Four and reminded me of home.  
>"I knew you would. You like home comforts, right?"<br>"Right," I said, and drifted off into sleep again.

When I woke up the second time, the light was coming in through the curtains and the clock on the wall told me that it was just past seven o'clock. Finnick was still awake, smoothing down my hair like a mother would to a child but much more affectionately.  
>"Good morning."<br>"Good morning again, trouble," he said, sitting up. I realised my head was now in his lap and jumped to attention, causing a smirk to form across his face. "Calm down."  
>"I think I'm going to take a quick shower, and then eat breakfast."<br>"Okay, I'll go then."  
>"And Finnick?"<br>"Yeah?"

"Thank you so much for last night, and this morning."  
>"You know you had nightmares."<br>"How typical. Tell me more over breakfast."

I showered, put my hair back in a ponytail and donned the repulsive Training Centre uniform, promising myself that I would keep to both my vow with Finnick and my vow with myself. I walked through to the breakfast room, taking a bowl of cabbage soup, some bacon and bread. Finnick was eating a big plate full of pretty much everything they offered – I marvelled daily at that boy's appetite.

"So I had nightmares?"  
>"You were shouting in your sleep. It's okay. Peeta says Katniss has nightmares quite frequently," he nodded, cracking open the top of a boiled egg.<br>"What did I shout?"  
>"You shout about your dad, and Mags, and for your mother. You call out that you're scared and you sing like back in Four. You always call out for Seeder and for me."<p>

I blushed, embarrassed.  
>"I didn't do anything that bad, did I?"<br>"You moaned my name quite a few times actually and you did try to kiss me, but that's it, I guess," he said nonchalantly. I choked rather violently on my juice. "Calm down, I was only joking," he said, laughing.  
>"Oh," I said, my blush spreading.<br>"You believed that? How interesting…"

"You're a good liar, Odair," I speared a piece of bacon with my fork and chewed contently.  
>"Mostly, you cry out because you're worried. I die often in your dreams," he said, with a worried expression.<br>"Great," I said sarcastically. "And Seeder does too?"  
>"Not really. I die, she comforts you, that's the way it goes."<br>"How can you tell this?"

"You scream out, my name, growing louder until finally it stops, then you cry, then you call for Seeder, then you stop crying."  
>"And you can tell this all from one night?"<br>"It was a repetitive cycle."  
>"Mm," I said thoughtfully, pulling a slice of bread apart and dipping it in the soup.<p>

"At least I know you care now," he grinned.  
>"What?"<br>"You really had doubts about my friendship and yet you still think that I never have doubts about you?" he said. "Really?"  
>"I guess I never even considered it."<br>"Think about it carefully."  
>"Think about what?"<p>

"I wait for you, I try and take care of you, I hold you when you cry in your sleep and I would defend you forever. You shout at me, you storm off and get mad at me, you ignore me and you chastise me for the littlest things – you think, really, that I never have doubts about whether you care about me or not?" he said, with a bittersweet smile on his face as he stared out of the window of the dining room. I decided to have a little fun and maybe play one of his tricks on him before I went sweet again.

"Why does it matter?"  
>"What?"<br>"Why does it matter whether I care for you or not?"  
>"I think we've previously established that it clearly matters."<br>"Well I do, simple as. Let's go back to that vow now shall we?"  
>"Let's go back to that Training Centre now, shall we?"<p>

We made our way down the lift into the Training Centre where the majority of the other tributes were waiting. The tall woman running the training didn't say much but just set us out to go to our various stations. Finnick started teaching me how to use a trident whilst I helped him work on his hook skills. Katniss tried teaching me how to use a bow and arrow, and she's the best of the best, especially after that impressive display yesterday but I was pretty much hopeless. In return I taught her how to weave some okay nets and found out that I didn't dislike her as much as I had originally thought.

We chatted whilst we wove.  
>"So, how are you?" I asked her. She just let out a dark chuckle.<br>"I'm coping, sort of," she replied, tying the edges of a square mat. "And you? I hear everyone's talking about you and Finnick." I almost ripped my own mat.  
>"They are?"<br>"They are."  
>"What are they saying?"<br>"Like you don't know that," she scoffed playfully. I actually liked this side of Katniss.

"I-I don't. That's why I asked," I looked at her, snipping the sides of the mat into neat, streamlined edges.  
>"Can I give you a piece of advice?"<br>"Go for it."  
>"Everyone seems to know but you."<br>"Did you steal that from Seeder?"  
>"What?"<br>"Don't worry. Seeder said something similar and it's been bugging me ever since – I still don't know what she's talking about."  
>"For an intelligent girl, you're really dumb. I'm saying this because I care."<p>

"Hey, trouble. Nice mat, Katniss."  
>"Hi, Finnick," Katniss turned to look at me pointedly as Finnick sat down between me and her. I gave her the same look back.<br>"What are you ladies up to?"  
>"Well, we're at the weaving station," Katniss pointed out.<br>"So we're doing spear-throwing," I finished, flashing Finnick a grin.

"Wait, what?"  
>"I was being sarcastic."<br>"Ah. I have a surprise for you at lunch."  
>"What is it?"<br>"Well, if I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"  
>"It is absolutely freezing," Katniss shivered.<br>"It is pretty cold, isn't it?" Peeta came to join us, handing Katniss another vile synthetic jacket (his) to place on top of her own. Katniss looked at him embarrassedly but gratefully and then shot another pointed look, this time at Finnick.

"Are you cold?" he asked me.  
>"Not particularly," I said, my little shiver giving me away. "Don't worry about it, it's lunchtime now anyway," I said, looking at the clock on the wall.<br>"Trust you to know the time."  
>"I check so often I practically know what it is without looking now," I laughed. "Come on, let's go, you can show me that surprise you said you got me," I didn't want to admit it but I was definitely curious.<p>

In the cafeteria, we sat in the same group that we did before. Me, Finnick, Katniss, Peeta, Seeder, Chaff, Johanna, Beetee and Wiress – all crowded around a bunch of tables together.  
>"I'll be back in a minute, hold on," said Finnick, rushing off to the kitchen.<br>"Are we even allowed in there?" Johanna asked.  
>"No," said Beetee. "Why is he going in there?"<br>"Is the food ready yet?" Peeta said. "I'm starving."

Just as the food was getting laid out on the buffet tables around the room, Finnick rushed back to the table with a steaming stone pot like the ones I have in my own house and a covered plate, setting them down in front of me.  
>"Is this for me?" I asked.<br>"Of course."

I took the matching dark stone lid off of the pot, letting a savoury, salty fish aroma fill the air. This wasn't just any fish in a bowl, this was Four's trademark fish soup, a hearty homemade stew you could only find in Four that tasted of fresh fish, salt, cream, vegetables and everything good in the world. If you wanted home comforts, this was about as good as you could get and I felt my mouth watering.  
>Next, I took the foil off of the plate, uncovering a couple of loaves of bread. Again, not just any loaves but warm, fish-shaped loaves of bread tinted sea-green with the content of seaweed. The crust tough and more brownish whereas the outside had a fluffy, salty texture and taste. A taste of home. I thought I was going to cry.<p>

"Is it okay? Do you like it?"  
>"How did you get this? You can't get this soup anywhere but home."<br>"I bribed the chefs with an exorbitant amount of money," he said, as if it was nothing. "Do you like it?"  
>"I love it, thank you so much," I said, hugging him tightly and kissing him on each cheek and his forehead too. He blinked, hugging me back.<p>

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seeder whispering to Katniss and Katniss whispering to Peeta and Peeta whispering to Johanna and Johanna whispering to Beetee.  
>"Quit it," I said to them. "You know it annoys me," I added, but to be honest I didn't care because every ounce of homesickness I had been feeling had just floated away.<br>"Sorry," Seeder said, smirking over her beef.  
>I began to eat, my appetite returning quicker than my homesickness had left. He was right, Haymitch, I mean. Finnick was a good, no, the best ally I could possibly get on my side. Finnick was correct too – we were really good friends. I don't think I'd ever liked him more than this, the little crush returning and making my heart flip.<br>"Is it good?"  
>"Wanna try some?" I said, putting a piece of fish on my spoon and offering it to him. He opened his mouth like a small child.<p>

With a full stomach and a happy heart, I went into the training centre in the afternoon determined to make some allies and pretty much win in general.  
>"I think I want to wrestle," I said, eyeing up the wrestling station. "I've never wrestled before – who knows when you might need that?"<br>"When would you ever need that? But sure, come on, let's go."  
>"Hello, my name is Isis," said the small, blonde woman running the wrestling station. Really? She looked about five feet tall and she must have only weighed around 90 pounds. "Are you interested in learning how to wrestle?"<p>

"Yeah, sure," I nodded.  
>"Suit down, oil up," she indicated a couple of bottles of oil.<br>My mind flashed back. Elfish, naked Johanna Mason, rubbing herself up and down with some kind of oil at this very station. Oh my God. I can't be naked. No. No nakedness. No. Oh my God. Finnick is walking towards the oil. He's beginning to take off his suit and I think if he gets naked right here right now I might die.  
>"Maybe wrestling isn't that good an idea…"<br>"What's wrong with wrestling?" he said, shirtless. Oh my.

"I just… maybe I should go back to spear skills."  
>"Are you scared?"<br>"Not at all."  
>"Fine, we'll wrestle tomorrow. Are you warm?"<br>"No, I'm actually kinda cold."  
>"Oh…"<br>"Why?"  
>"Your cheeks are red."<br>Damn it.  
>"Maybe I am warm."<br>"You're hot and cold? Are you ill?"

"No, I'm fine. Come on, let's go back to spear throwing."  
>"If you say so."<br>"Hey Seeder," I turned around to see she was also throwing long spears at various targets. Finnick was brilliant with spears but I still fumbled because back in Four I always caught fish with hooks, small and large.  
>"Hello, you two," she grinned. I love Seeder's smile. Her eyes shine and her nose crinkles and it's the happiest thing I've ever seen.<br>Chaff joined us.

"Interrupting a mother's meeting?" he chuckled gruffly.  
>"Not at all," I smiled. He put his arm around me comfortingly. That's another thing that I love – Chaff's hugs. I think everything could go wrong, the world could end and as long as I have Seeder's smiles and Chaff's hugs everything would be peachy for me.<br>"Here, do it like this," Finnick nudged Chaff off of me and stood behind me, his hands on mine, his muscles on my back. He guided my hands smoothly through the air, the spear flying through swiftly and piercing the centre of the target.

"I think I get it now!" I threw on my own now. My spear, unlike his, flew directly above the target, straight past it and too close for comfort to Isis, who hit the ground with a thump and a scream. I couldn't hold in my laughter for too long and Finnick joined me. Seeder came after, her joyful laughter ringing out across the Training Centre and Chaff's deep chuckle collaborating in perfect harmony. I realised that to the other tributes we must have looked insane. The morphlings were joining in for no particular reason but Enobaria was looking at us like we were eating babies or something. Maybe we just needed a little laughter.

"What's the difference between throwing knives and throwing spears?"  
>"Knives are streamlined and tiny, and spears are clunky and heavy," Seeder answered Finnick's question for me. "You can't really blame her – no-one's used spears since the birth of Panem."<br>"People used spears last year."  
>"You know what I mean."<br>Finnick's forehead wrinkled as if to say _'no, I don't' _but we carried on nonetheless, him trying in determined futility to teach me how to throw spears. We spent all afternoon and I managed to learn enough about spears to not hit Isis every time I tried, but I wasn't as skilled as Chaff or Finnick. I guess I'd use knives instead. Spears were heavy and awkward and I generally wasn't a heavy or awkward person.

Outside the lift, we stood in a line. Chaff, Seeder, me, Finnick, Peeta, Katniss, Beetee, Wiress, Johanna. The Careers stood in an awkward huddle, whispering and turning around occasionally to size us up and check the lift.  
>"So, how do you think today's training went?"<br>"Ah, it went okay," I replied to Seeder. "My mat-weaving got a lot better, I think, and I think I helped Katniss too. And yourself?"

"I'm not bothering with much," she smiled wistfully. "There's not much point for me."  
>"Don't say that," I said, a large lump forming in my throat. "You have just as much chance as some of us – I mean, look at the District 6 competitors. You're strong. You don't need drink or drugs."<br>"But I'm old, Harper," she said, looking at the floor. "And I don't mind."  
>"Shall we change the subject?" I said. I had never been good at confrontation or awkward goodbyes. Well, talking about it isn't going to make it any better, really, is it?<p>

I got in the lift with Finnick, and we stood there in silence.  
>"So how are you?" I asked him.<br>"Do you want my honest answer?" he said, as we got out of the lift and went into our floor, flopping down together on a sofa.  
>"Well, if I wanted a lie I would have asked for one."<br>"I'm scared. I'm really scared," he said. For a moment there, I didn't see Finnick Odair the womanizing District Four export, Finnick Odair the strong young victor – I saw Finnick Odair, this small, fearful little boy with big eyes welling up with tears.

"Me too," I said, slipping my arm around his waist and resting my head in the warmth of his neck as the first tear of his landed on the tip of my nose.  
>"What are we going to do?"<br>"I thought we had sorted this."  
>"Yeah, all's brilliant if me and you are together and we'll find Katniss and Peeta and we'll kick ass, and Beetee's got a plan and it's all going to be perfect, yeah? But what if that doesn't happen? What if we're stuck on opposite sides of the arena and we can't find each other? The real Careers find you, or… me? And we can't fight them off? And we… we…"<br>"We die."

Finnick drops his gaze for a moment as we consider this.  
>"At least I'll die doing what I love," I said.<br>"Being brutally slaughtered?"  
>"Making trouble for District 1 and 2 brats," I grinned. He let out a chuckle. Neither of us had trained for our Games. We weren't Careers, and we didn't consider ourselves as so.<p>

"We have our time with the Gamemakers tomorrow. Please don't throw it for a three this time – do what you can."  
>"Here goes nothing," I laughed again. "What are you going to do?"<br>"I have no idea. You?"  
>"Me either, just gonna chill and eat some edible plants I think."<br>"You're really going into the arena in flames aren't you?"  
>"You bet your ass I am."<p>

At dinner, we sat in silence. I smoothed chicken paste onto bread and butter. I worked my way through a loaf, suddenly ravenous as I thought of the fish stew I had eaten earlier.  
>"So."<br>"So," I answered Finnick, as he ate his way through a large chicken. He paused occasionally for a drink of water and I was thirsty to keep the conversation going.  
>"Did you hear about what Katniss did with the Gamemakers last year?"<br>"No," he said, in a way that implies 'tell me'.

"They were being asses, so she gets her bow and arrow, and shoots the apple from their suckling pig. They're all looking at her and she just says 'thank you for your consideration' and leaves," I said, laughing.  
>"So that's the way to get an 11! Be a gutsy idiot!"<br>"If there's anything she embodies, a lot of the time it's gutsy idiot," I agreed. "You know, in the interviews, we're going to have to decide all over again what we embody."  
>"I think I've already got that down," Finnick grinned, making my insides go to jelly. I raise an eyebrow at him.<p>

"You know, super-sexy District 4 hunk?" he winked, pulling a stupid pose. I spluttered, laughed and blushed all simultaneously.  
>"Well that's all well and good for you, 'super-sexy hunk'," I said, struggling to breathe and regain my sanity. "But what the hell am I supposed to be?"<br>"Why do you have to be anything?"  
>"Everyone is something," I began to explain. "They're either dark and mysterious or likeable and funny. They could be pretty and charming or powerful and strong. Sometimes they're brutish and silent or humble and kind. You can't get away with just being yourself when everyone else has this sponsor-ready persona."<p>

"Maybe they were just being themselves."  
>"I suppose, but surely they exaggerate it a little bit."<br>"Exactly, and that's all that you have to do."  
>"But what do I exaggerate?"<br>"Hm, your cunning and smart-ass ways. Maybe exaggerate your temper," Finnick winced. "Or maybe not. Be the pretty one, or the one with a massive crush. Be really homesick or caring. I don't know, just be you."

"Wait, wait, wait," I held him up. "How is being the one with a massive crush being me?"  
>"I just added that one in for the laughs. It always helps though. I mean, look at Katniss and Peeta, it worked for them."<br>"That's their gimmick. Maybe we should find one too."  
>"Gimmick… Finnick…" the words rolled off of his tongue. "Just be yourself and stop stressing, will you?"<p> 


	6. Chapter 5

A/N – Your beautiful reviews make me so happy. I love you all ^-^ When I have time, I plan to answer each one personally, but until then please keep reviewing and motivating me and making me feel like the luckiest fanfiction author on the planet. :'3

If you're reading this – there is a 62.88% chance you are American, and a 8.72% chance you are from the United Kingdom, land of aging royalty and awful public transport. If you are in that little 8.72%, you will know that right now is exam season for GCSEs and therefore some kind of weird Hunger Games invented by sadistic examiners XD My updates are sparse, I know, I'm so sorry. I can't really think of a valid excuse apart from stress, but let's take my apology and eat some cake, right? I'll try harder now, I promise. :3

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><p>"What is your name?"<br>"Harper Quinn, District Four," I said, looking up at Plutarch Heavensbee. He winks conspiratorially at me and sits down to watch me. I have no idea what to do. I can see the buzz of the forcefield from where Beetee had pointed it out to me earlier. Oh, Katniss, so you can anger these Gamemakers and I can't? Just watch me.

I wandered off whilst they watched my every move. Picked up a piece of potato from the edible plants station and began to munch on it happily. Who doesn't know that potato is an edible plant anyway? They began to get bored and restless, talking amongst themselves. Perfect. Quietly, I slipped off to the camouflage station. What colour is the wall? Red. That means berry juice.

Ever so perfectly, like blood, or make-up, I smeared the crushed berries on my cheeks, and on the palest parts of my skin. They covered it in. I looked better. Redder. Now on to the knives station. Something light and subtle, nice silver, clean and sharp. I didn't have the time or the background noise to sharpen it unnoticed. They were still talking amongst themselves.

Perfect. This is an engraved blade, with a comfortable handle. I stuck it into a holster in my belt and started walking over. Quietly. They think I'm just some vapid twenty-something, wandering around wasting my time. This is brilliant, they're eating, drinking, socialising. Exactly what I want. Softly, softly. Gentle footsteps.  
>They would have seen me if I was up on my feet, so I dropped my knees and began to crawl like a baby, careful not to make any noises. I was getting closer to the table now, and someone looked up to look for where I was. It was too late. I was behind Plutarch, on my knees, and I rose up, silently, twirling my knife within my hands. I held his face in my hand, pressing my lips against his ear as I held the knife to his neck.<p>

"Well, good morning, Mr Gamemaker. It's so lovely to see you paying attention. That's a lovely pocket watch you have there," I whispered. I could feel him shivering under me. I ran my fingertips down his neck, and looked at the time after flipping the lid up on his pocket watch. He stroked the face of it gently and a mockingjay appeared, lit by glowing warm light, and then disappeared as he snapped it shut.  
>"Thank you, Harper," he said, smoothly, as I dropped the knife on the table and walked out of the Training Centre.<p>

Eight more districts to go. The morphlings, Johanna, then Woof, Cecelia… Chaff, Seeder, Peeta, Katniss. I waited, scrubbing my skin raw to get the berry juice off of my cheeks whilst Finnick was freshening up. It took forever scraping and rubbing to get the reddish tint off of my cheeks then I washed my hair and dressed in a pair of pyjama shorts and a dark blue tank top. I let my hair tumble down over my shoulders.

Me and Finnick decide to order food in front of the television today. I eat noodles in an appetising chicken broth with hints of spice and Finnick eats steak with fried potatoes, as is his favourite. As we eat our way through a large box of chocolates, it's time to cut from the usual coverage and reveal the scores.  
>Gloss is first. He pulls a nine, which isn't that impressive considering he's a major Career and young too. Cashmere comes afterwards, receiving a score of eight, which again, is in the normal Career range. This doesn't make them any less or more of a threat, seeing as I knew they were fairly threatening already.<p>

Brutus, the scary forty-something from District 2, gets a nine. This is extremely impressive considering he's pretty old for a tribute and I can't help but think he must be freakishly strong or have some kind of a crazy temper. Enobaria gets a ten, which is also impressive, but come on, the woman has solid gold freaking teeth.  
>Beetee and Wiress both get a six for their efforts, which isn't bad because again they're old for tributes and they are kind of twitchy and fairly old. We're talking over this when suddenly Finnick's face appears and it's time for us to receive our scores.<p>

Finnick gets a ten, a joint highest score with Enobaria. I noted the solid gold trident in the Training Centre before I left and my mind flickers humorously with visions of him spearing and dismembering helpless dummies, whilst flashing a grin which makes female Gamemakers faint and fall over themselves.

My own face pops up on the screen and an eleven pops up next to it. Oh my God. Highest score so far, and one of the highest scores I think they've ever given, seeing as they never give twelves. Katniss got an eleven last year. The Careers are going to be on my ass like mud on a pig but I don't care because sponsors will be rushing to give me their generous donations. Not too bad. Who the hell is going to sort out our donations? Probably Haymitch will end up doing it. I got an eleven though. Seriously.

District 5 – a four for the guy, a six for the girl. The morphlings get matching threes. Johanna gets a nine but her partner gets a five, Cecelia gets a six and Woof gets a two. The unknowns from District 9 get fives based on their age and previous abilities; they didn't even turn up for the Gamemakers. The District 10 guy got a seven but the woman got a four. Seeder got a four too, but Chaff managed to pull a seven out of nowhere.

Then, suddenly, it was on to District 12. Up went Peeta, and a 12 appeared next to his name. Is that his district? Did a four appear next to us before our score? I never even noticed. Nope, that's his score. How the hell did he get a 12? And Katniss too. Twelves all round. I was pretty sure that was the first time they have given a twelve. Let alone two in a row. Finnick and I came to our realisation simultaneously.

"They didn't do something really good," he spluttered.  
>"They did something wrong," I added, it dawning on me that we're all being encouraged to kick some District 12 ass post-haste in the arena.<br>"They must have really made the Gamemakers pissed," Finnick muttered through a liqueur chocolate.  
>"We'll ask them at some point, but at the moment it's getting late," I said, sipping water. Finnick was eating still but his eyelids were drooping slightly, heavily shadowing the sea-green I liked to stare into.<br>"I'm tired."  
>"We have a long day tomorrow," I replied, dusting a strand of hair from his forehead and laying on his chest.<br>"It's important that you get a good night's sleep, especially because we're getting prepped in the day tomorrow too," he said, cradling me. I don't think there's anything better than muscular, warm arms around you when you're tired.

_The tide drew in, oh can't you see_

_My sweet love, please wait for me_

_A thousand waves on a choppy sea_

_I'm sick, my love, please rescue me_

* * *

><p>The next morning, I woke up on the sofa, feeling clammy and nervous before I even remembered what was going that day. Ah, yes, interviews.<br>"Finnick… Finnick, wake up," I said, jumping up and nudging him from his slumber (in which he looked pretty cute by the way). He groaned slightly in his sleep, and his eyes fluttered open; they darted over to me.

"What? What time is it? Why are you waking me up? What are we doing?" he said, blinking cutely in confusion.  
>"It is," I checked the clock, "eleven o'clock a.m., I'm waking you up because we are getting prepped in two hours and we have to eat first."<br>"Prepped for what?"  
>"Are you just sleepy or did you get amnesia? We have interviews today."<p>

"Ah, interviews. This should be fun. What are you going to wear?"  
>"Oh, you know, some jeans, a sweater… How the hell I am supposed to know? Get up," I said, running my fingers through my hair and wandering through to my compartment. I didn't really know what to do because I couldn't shower – I'd just be scrubbed raw later anyway – and I didn't really have anything else to do. Showering had become a hobby of mine. It fills the time.<p>

I got dressed – jeans and a sweater, ironically – and wandered through to the dining room.  
>"Eat well, trouble."<br>"Why?"  
>"Well, this is our, what, second last meal before we go in? You wanna eat yourself sick. I'm serious. It's gonna be hard to find food, isn't it?"<br>"I suppose, I suppose."

It's turkey with pieces of bacon in gravy. Vegetables are arranged delicately on the table. We stare across at each other as is usual, as I put bacon on my plate. Finnick is carving the turkey.  
>"You remind me of my dad."<br>"Why?"  
>"He always carves turkey," I laugh. "God, I haven't eaten really good meat in years."<br>"It's hard to come by in Four, but then again I prefer a good piece of fish anyway."

"Do you remember life before the Games? What was yours like?"  
>"That's a random question."<br>"I was thinking about what I used to eat before my Games, fish and all. And it made me wonder."  
>"Well, I was born in the fisherman's part of town, third class."<p>

In District Four we have classes. First class is the mayor and his family, the Peacemakers, their families and the well to-do families who don't even have to work because they're in old money. Their kids do whatever the hell they want, but usually they go this one exorbitantly expensive District Academy.  
>Second class is the merchants who run the shops and markets, the clever, educated people and the nuclear families. Their children, who go to the expensive Career Academy, end up being stupidly strong and they are pretty good in the Hunger Games. They are the kind of kids that volunteer, and they're endlessly arrogant (the majority of them).<br>Third class is for fishermen and harbour workers. They're the regular people, the common citizen. Third class also has barrel-makers, preservers (the kind that salt fish and vegetables) and shop workers (not owners, workers). Their children are just normal kids that go to regular school, swim in the sea, help on the ships and play in the parks.  
>Fourth class is the untouchables. They're usually pretty poor. Net-makers, divers (they dive for dropped coins, etc, on the seabed)… you get the gist. Many of them work as maids and footmen in the houses of first class families. Their kids run around barefoot with their ribs showing, trying to get work. Sometimes they go to school, if they're lucky.<p>

"I went to school, just like any other kid. I did well in physical education, English, math – didn't like sciences or arts though. They thought I was going to get a scholarship to the Career Academy, but by the time they had considered it, I had already been in the reaping. I never had to take tesserae, which was pretty lucky.  
>"My family were simple. My dad like disappeared as soon as my mom got pregnant, and my mother went crazy and swam the sea with a rock necklace when I was three. I lived with my aunt and her three kids – got ditched by her man just like my mother did. When I won the Games, they refused to speak to me again; thought I was putting on airs and graces now that I lived in the Victors' Village.<br>"So before my time in the Games, I spent the times that I wasn't at school fishing to help feed the family and swimming and playing in the streets. I had the boring bog-standard childhood that you read about in books," he finished, shrugging nonchalantly and pulling the crust of a piece of freshly-cut bread.

"Au contraire, I'm pretty sure bog-standard childhoods don't make an exciting story," I smirked.  
>"What was yours like then, David Copperfield?" he laughed. The literary reference makes me wince, although I have read that book. I had to sweet-talk President Snow into letting me into the Capitol library, the only place in the country where the books are uncensored. I spent an evening laughing at his jokes and letting his rich friends look down my dress and up my skirt. Feeling repulsed, I wondered what price Finnick paid to read Charles Dickens.<p>

"Well, my mom died during childbirth," I said, feeling like I was pouring my heart out. "I had no other family, and my dad has nothing in common with me apart from the fact that we both love the sea. We don't really do much together, or speak much, but he means well, I think. I went to school for two years – until I was eight – before I got pulled out and helped my dad make nets. Fourth class – like it was written across my forehead.  
>After I won the Games, I went to the Career Academy and helped out there. I was put on the scholarship committee helping kids send themselves to their own deaths. It was depressing, so after six months I quit and did nothing with my time."<p>

"Let's change the subject," Finnick said, feeling the atmosphere grow cold. "What's the time? Let's go… let's go get prepped."  
>"Good luck," I said, going down to the prepping room where I'd meet the three sisters again.<br>"You too," he said, his voice implying it was not just for the prepping, but the interview too.  
>My God, would I need it.<p>

"It's you again," the violet-tinted Calabria with her long, graceful legs wrinkled her nose at me. "I swore that we asked for Finnick this time," she added, a subtle shade of pink mixing with the purple on her cheeks.  
>"Harper!" Callista grinned, embracing me again. "We have the best ideas for you – we were talking with Adriana for AGES and… oh my, I'm just so EXCITED!"<br>"Hello," said Celestia, quietly, but still a definite improvement on the rosy triplet's silence last time.  
>"Beauty base zero again?" I winced.<br>"Don't be scared! It's going to be fun! Now get in the bath," Callista's joyful tone suddenly turned serious as she pointed towards the steaming tub of water in the corner of the prep room. "It smells like peaches. Peaches are lovely. They're plump and juicy and they smell delicious. You will _also _smell delicious. Now get in the bath."

I shrugged, disrobed and got into the fruity waters, letting the steam open up my pores and erase my fatigue. The three sisters were muttering in the opposite corner and unloading their large black beauty bags with hair products and weird curved metal contraptions I remember being aimed towards my eyes last time. The warmth of the water surrounded me like the sea on a summer's day, or hot springs, or…  
>"Out of the bath," ordered Calabria, her sapphire eyes glinted at me with a mixture of boredom and distaste. "We have <em>a lot <em>of work to do."  
>"Way to handle a tribute, Bri," Callista nudged her out of the way and brandished a pair of tweezers and box of wax strips. "You have to be smooth all over. Hair will only get in the way."<p>

I clutched to my brown waves possessively.  
>"Body hair," Calabria sighed. "She's so dumb," she grumbled in addition, sorting out her bottles of floral-scented hair-styling gloop.<br>"Well I'm s-AAHHH!" I was cut out mid-word by the fact that I was still _so _not used to the pain of getting my legs waxed.  
>"Just a moment," Callista apologised and I felt something scrub across my face, my legs, my arms, everything, until it started to sting a little bit. Ah, the top ten layers of skin… who needs 'em, eh? "We need to make everything silky… silky smooth," she strained herself whilst leaning over me to exfoliate my other leg.<br>"Uh… no problem…"

"Don't work yourself raw, Callie. It's not worth it," Calabria sniffed. Celestia turned to give her a sharp look, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something. My heart gave out a little twinge. _Get a grip on yourself, Harper. If you're feeling a bit down because of a Capitol citizen's snobbish remarks, then how are you going to feel in the arena? She'll see when you kick ass in there anyway, _I told myself, pushing the bad feelings out.  
>"Don't wriggle!" Callista said sternly, finishing by plucking the last stray hair from my right eyebrow with a flourish. She then finished off her handiwork by smoothing my skin over with a peachy moisturiser which soaked in quickly. As if it was all connected to how messed up I looked, her stern attitude now seemed to vanish.<br>"Okay, we're all done!" she said, grinning with her eyes shut happily. "Celestia. Go."

In the white cotton robe with its soft sleeves, I sat in a wooden chair which made my ass go numb whilst Celestia and her rocket fingers blow-dried my hair and massaged in a product which seemed to smooth down my hair, tame it and yet add body to it all at the same time. Although I couldn't see her exactly, I could imagine her full lips pursed as she considered her next move – taking this as seriously as a world-class chess player.  
>As if she had just realised what she was about to do, she took a wide-toothed comb from her table and asked me quietly not to move my head. I expected her to pull off one of her gorgeous updo styles like from the parade and I didn't want it to come out lopsided so, obediently, I stared at a blank spot on the white wall.<br>Instead, she pulled the comb gently through all of my blow-dried tresses, smoothed them with a sweet-smelling serum and admired her own hard work without doing anything further.

"I think I'm finished," she said, handing me over to her more stand-offish older sister who brought out a slightly bigger bag of tools as if she would need a copious amount of cosmetics to make me look somewhat decent.  
>First she smoothed that miracle cream across my scrubbed-down skin. I felt it, with no scent on Calabria's fingers – as light as a butterfly, sink into any imperfection and tingle promisingly. Next, the curved contraption clamped around my eyelashes, and with a press from their wielder, moulded them into a curl. A small amount of plain, wholesome lip balm was smoothed across my lips and a little bit of peachy colour to match my peachy everything was spread across my cheeks.<p>

A little touch of highlighter was dabbed into my eyelids and I was ordered to blink on command for Calabria's mascara brush. The last little touch that was added was a little brush of skin-toned powder that would, according to the make-up artist, set her accomplishment (_making you look pretty) _into stone for the next few hours. The first thing I did was stand up and try to walk over to the mirror, but my numb legs and ass refused to let me do such a thing. I stumbled, clutching onto a startled Celestia.  
>"No, no, not the mirror!" Callista wised up to my evil master plan and ushered me out of the room without giving much regard to whether my legs were stable or not. I remembered Adriana, her motherly face and her kind but brisk attitude, as if her main prerogative in anything in life was to get it done and cross further bridges when she comes to them. Her partner, Helius, I had only snatched a glimpse at, a clean-shaven dark-haired man who stood with her in the parade.<p>

And It was Adriana who I saw next, her arm linking in with mine and dragging me into the stylist's room nearby.  
>"Are we still doing the whole gold thing?"<br>"Yes, but we're doing it slightly differently now. We want people to talk about you still, but we want them to see you in a different light to some extent."  
>"Talk about me <em>still<em>?" I asked, putting on the little black shorts that she had laid out for me on the chair.  
>"Yes, we want you to stick in their heads but we want them to see every side of you possible."<br>"In shorts?"  
>"Those are safety nets. It would be hard to make a blunder in this kind of dress, but we want you to be insured against the worse. Helius and I worked together to make this dress."<p>

If it was anything like the one before, I made a mental note to thank Helius for his input.  
>"Now, I want you to close your eyes, put your hands out and step when I tell you to, okay?" she said, reaching for a dust cover from the rail.<br>"O-Okay," I said, shutting my eyes in trust and waiting for her orders. I heard the dust cover slip to the floor, and Adriana arrange herself but time seemed to go so slowly when I couldn't see a thing that it alarmed me a little bit when she actually spoke.  
>"Arms out," she said, and slipped what felt like a bra on to them, hooking it gently on my back. "And down," she added, and I let my arms fall to my sides. "Step forward now," I heard, and I did, feeling a soft fabric pooling around my feet. Adriana slipped the top onto my now outstretched arms and stepped back, tugging ever so softly on the skirt of the dress and making sure that it was falling correctly. "You can open your eyes now."<p>

This was a major transformation. Before I was fierce, sexy even, with my dark outlined eyes and my sparkling fishnets but now I looked so much different. Where my face was painted within an inch of its life before, now it was like I had just tumbled out of bed with slightly longer eyelashes and a blush like I was walking through a park. My eyes looked wider and my skin looked so much more even.  
>My hair tumbled freely down my back and my chest, darker and richer than it ever used to be, with no adornments apart from a delicious scent that made me consider its edibility. No bows, no gold rosebuds like before, just me like I'd only just woken up back home in District Four, looking much hotter than usual.<br>And the dress – ancient inspired. Grecian, pale gold with a touch of glimmer that shimmered every time the light caught it, with two rather wide straps at the top, lots of fabric brought in at the waist and a long flowing skirt made of the same pretty material. It skimmed the floor – now I knew what she meant by the fact that it was hard to create accidents in.

I needed nothing else. Now I looked like the kind of girl that adopted stray puppies and healed babies (okay so if I could heal babies I probably would), some kind of charitable goddess. I could only hope that the best sponsors saw my previous Games and knew this wouldn't-hurt-a-fly thing wasn't really me. The finishing touch as my key necklace, the long fine gold chain and the little pendant fastened over the top.

Come on then, Caesar Flickerman. I'm ready for everything you've got.


	7. Chapter 6

The man in question introduced himself – as if we didn't know who he was - and sat in his usual laidback pose on his elegant armchair on the stage. His hair and face were tinted with a delightful (kind of) shade of purple which reminded me of Calabria and her brusque disposition. He went through his usual spiel of welcoming the Capitol citizens to not just another Hunger Games, but a Quarter Quell, none the less!

They were so excited, most of them could barely contain themselves. They were chatting and laughing, eating and drinking. Well it was all okay for them – when they woke up tomorrow they might be going to a party with the rest of their blissful socialite friends, or to the daily grind at the offices. When we woke up tomorrow, we would be sent into a deadly arena where our lives and everything we stood for were on the line.

It all went so fast, the Capitol citizens in the audience lapping it up like thirsty dogs, that before I had barely enough time to blink the tributes were starting their interviews. Cashmere and her flaxen curls are the first to go, and she made the audience members almost cry themselves when she talked of the tears she had shed for their pain (at losing us, apparently). I couldn't help but think of the tears most tributes had shed for their own lives, until I saw at the members of the audience cursing their own President. Cashmere was smart. She was really, really smart, and so was her brother with his wistful speech thanking the same cursing citizens for their kindness to the two siblings.

Brutus and Enobaria ruined this little winning streak with their bloodthirsty battle cries shaped into eloquence. For a moment, the citizens that were crying with their sorrows just a few minutes before were now cheering in their anticipation for the Games and their older but still just as deadly participants.

Beetee with his adorable ticks and twitches took his time with Caesar to query the Quell's legal status and whether it really fitted in with everything in Panem's constitution. The citizens began to sit back in their sorrowful slump, and Wiress helps this situation by clearly showing that she's not really up to being put in another games. Before I know it, the citizens are swooning and shouting and it's time for me to step on to the stage.

"Harper Quinn from District 4! The Capitol's golden girl, living up to her name!" Caesar Flickerman proclaimed. "And a wonderful evening it is now!"  
>"Evening, Flickerman," I saluted. "I mean… g-good evening, Caesar," I tried to correct myself, with a little curtsy, but he batted it away.<p>

"Evening," he saluted back. "So… we've all heard the opinions on the Quarter Quell from our lovely District 1, 2 and 3 victors. What's yours? What's your game plan?" he then reduced his voice to a whisper, "I won't tell anyone."  
>"Well, my game plan is to stay alive," I said honestly. "I'm not quite sure what I think to be honest. I don't want to have to kill any more people – all these victors are just so wonderful, I don't want Panem to lose them."<p>

My little speech was accompanied by a little whimper from the audience, from a woman obviously distraught that she will have to lose the victors that she thinks she knows.  
>"Well, you can't argue with that. Are you enjoying being back in the Capitol?"<br>"I have to say the Capitol is a lovely place. I like District 4 as well though. I'm a sea kind of girl."  
>"I like the sea, but I have to say I'm a city man. And what's your opinion on your little Capitol nickname?"<p>

"What nickname?" I said, startled. "It's not 'that little skinny one from Four', is it?"  
>"No," he laughed. "The Capitol's golden girl doesn't know her own shine, everyone."<br>This itself was enough for a little 'aw' from the audience, who were falling over themselves at my apparent adorableness. They obviously had not seen me in the morning.  
>"Well, that's pretty flattering. I just call the Capitol the Capitol," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "So how have you been, Caesar? I think you've lost weight," I winked.<p>

"Really? It shows!"  
>"Hell yeah it shows! Some new diet?"<br>"Oh, it's just my bone structure, honey," he said dismissively, breaking out in laughter. The citizens were laughing now – _keep it up, Harper!  
><em>"Oh it's to die for. To die for!"

"Do you know what else is? That fish soup they import from Four. De-licious!" he said emphatically, grinning. _Does he know? OH MY GOD HE KNOWS.  
><em>"The creamy one, yeah? Oh god I miss it. I don't know what I'll miss more. My life, or my soup," I said matter-of-factly, as if I really couldn't choose.  
>"Let's hope you remain with both," he said. "I have to say, today you look lovely."<br>"Thank you," I blushed, hoping that the audience didn't see. No! Adorable points +5 for the blushing, Harper!

"What inspired this new look?"  
>"I don't know. I'm more of a natural girl, myself," I explained. "So this look fits me more."<br>"Do natural girls get along well in the arena?"  
>"Depends. There are no floor-length dresses in the arena, Caesar," I laughed. <em>Because if there were, this whole thing would be a hell of a lot more easy.<em>

"Oh that would be an episode to remember! Well, good luck to you in your Quarter Quell endeavours, I think the whole of the Capitol can say our hearts are most definitely with you on this one. Any last words?" he says, and then slaps his hand over his mouth as if he's said something terrible. "I mean, in the interview."  
>"I'd just like to say, I'd like the Capitol to remember me fondly, as I'll always remember the Capitol. And in my memory, I want there to one day be more happiness in the world," I said, letting a crocodile tear slip down my cheek in fake sadness. Was I hell going to just accept my death and get all emotional over it! I was going to go into that arena blazing. However, the citizens were basking in all this drama. It was brilliant.<p>

* * *

><p>"Finnick Odair, legendary for his prowess in the arena and his luck with the ladies! What is your opinion on the Quarter Quell this year?" Caesar asked him sincerely. Finnick walked on, straightening the pale gold tie that went so well with his bronze hair. The audience women started howling with grief at this Casanova loss.<p>

I thought back, quickly, to the stories that had always circulated about Finnick not just in the Capitol, or in District Four, but in the whole of Panem from District 1 to District 12. I was just some sly little victor from a few years ago – Finnick was on a whole other level, his Don Juan ways known throughout the nation.  
>They always said that that's why he could never help me mentor the kids I had to send to their deaths each year. He was too busy in the Capitol, doing President Snow's bidding – personally requested by the dictator himself for his little plans which revolved around the delicate hierarchies of the Capitol's upper classes.<p>

Whilst he was doing whatever President Snow asked him to the Capitol, the rumours that went around (and these ones greatly outnumbered, and outshined the ones about the work he was doing with President Snow every year) also said that he had his own personal harem of Capitol women.  
>Every year he would go, go through a few in his visits, taking their stupidly expensive gifts as if they bought his love and pleasing them in ways they probably never could have imagined. These women hung on to him like lovesick puppies until he got bored of them <em>and <em>their exorbitant, ridiculous gifts and tossed them aside like yesterday's news.

He had never mentioned any of this to me, though I suppose it never came up in conversation. I couldn't help but wonder if my circumstances were different, if everything had worked out differently for me and I had been born and raised in the Capitol, whether I would have met Finnick at all.  
>Whether I would have been one of those fanatical females, the infatuated ones that hung on to his every word like it was their lifeline. Would I have been one of those young Capitol bachelorettes that was obviously so numb to my own feelings that I didn't mind paying somebody off with a good bottle of champagne and some diamonds for the road to love me? Would I need to pay someone to love me?<p>

Would I love Finnick? Would I be head-over-heels? Would I ever get to really know him at all, get to know about his childhood, understand where he came from and what the people were like? Would everything be different? Would he ever get to really know me in the way that he kind of did now, knowing what my temper was like and my quirky little habits? Or would we just spend nights together, pushing out every pure thought I'd ever had with lust and pillow talk?

"I'm making the most of the time while I have it," Finnick said with a hint of sadness in his voice. Although I knew he wasn't going anywhere, a lump stuck in my throat.  
>"And how do you plan to do this?" Caesar asked, placing his hand gently on top of Finnick's.<br>"I was planning to read out a poem," Finnick said, nervously.  
>"A poem? Finnick Odair is a poet?"<br>"Um… well… about that…" he said, looking at his feet with a flick of his hair that made all of the women watching swoon helplessly.

"Please! Enchant us!" Caesar said in his usual well-spoken, over-enthusiastic way as Finnick reached for a crumpled piece of paper from his tuxedo pocket.  
>"Well…"<p>

_The tide drew in, oh can't you see_

_My sweet love, please wait for me_

_A thousand waves on a choppy sea_

_I'm sick, my love, please rescue me_

_And hold my hand when skies grow grey  
><em>

_Forever 'til the darkest day  
><em>

_Make all the raindrops float away_

_With your sweet and gentle way_

_The tide drew in, oh can't you see_

_My sweet love, just follow me_

_Without you, I can hardly see_

_Pull me in with a one, two, three_

_And hold my hand when skies grow grey_

_I promise you, I'll never stray_

_So promise me it'll be okay_

_And dance with me in the ocean spray_

"I'm reading it for the girl that I'm falling for."  
>"That son of a bitch," I said, mumbling under my breath.<p>

"What?" he said, smirking as he came back to me.  
>"Think we both know," I said, looking down at the floor. "Idiot."<br>"What?" the smirk wiped off his face by this point, amidst Seeder's chuckle and his own confusion.  
>"You're an asshole. An actual asshole," I muttered.<p>

"What?" he said, as District 5's woman made her way up on to the stage for her own interview.  
>"Repeating yourself over and over again just makes you sound like an idiot," I replied, trying not to get caught by the various cameras that were angled at us, to keep our every move on camera. I felt like I was under observation. <em>Mental note: All video footage WILL be destroyed when I get rid of all of this crap.<em>

"Well I can't help it."  
>"Try and help it!"<br>"I don't understand why you're angry!" he whispered, shrugging. There were a few moments of silence – the alcoholic from District 5 then took his female partner's place, wiping the stale vomit from his stubbly, yellow-green face.

"Why wouldn't I be angry?"  
>"Peeta said that you might be angry. Why the hell are you angry?" he asked again.<br>"Don't talk to me."  
>"But-"<br>"Finnick, don't talk to me," I warned him, raising a finger to him subtly. There was more silence during the interviews of the morphlings. He began to say something as Johanna was walking up to her interview, but then he faltered.

"Johanna Mason!" Caesar's voice boomed. "And may I say that tonight, you look ravishing," he winked. I tried not to shudder at the age difference between the two, although Johanna had indeed ditched the traditional gowns that the majority of us had gone for (the exception being Katniss in her wedding dress, which I would have to ask her about more deeply next time. In my opinion, Snow was being a complete bastard). Instead she was wearing a jade-green mini-dress with matching stilettos and silver jewellery.

Johanna was something different from most girls I had met. She was athletic with a rather muscular build, leaving her with toned, taut arms, a perfect flat stomach and long, lean legs that could have belonged to a supermodel. At the same time she had this elfin appeal that came from her bone structure and her short pixie-like hair cut. Her doe-like eyes were the shade of brown mine could only dream of.

But the main thing that made Johanna stand out, that made Johanna so popular with the men not only in the Capitol, but also in the districts, was the fact that she was completely aware of her own charms. She knew the fatal allure that made men drop at her feet helplessly, and she exploited their masculine weaknesses in a way that only someone that confident could. Always to her own advantage.

As she show Caesar her jade and silver bracelet, I toyed with my own pale gold necklace indifferently, fiddling with the smooth, cool pendant between my fingers. It seemed to calm me until one look towards Finnick shocked me to the core. On top of his tuxedo pocket, the pendant just hanging over the top, matching with his tie, was a pale gold necklace that was extremely similar to the one that I brought here from Four. The only difference was that instead of a key, the pendant was in the shape of a lock.

Time has passed. Cecelia was taking the stage.  
>"Finnick! Finnick!" I said.<br>"What?" he responded.  
>"Why are you wearing a lock on a chain?" I hissed. He grinned.<p>

"Well, it's my district token of course. What did you think it was?"  
>"It's like mine."<br>"Oh, nice one, Sherlock," he smirked. "That's the point."  
>"Why?"<br>"Because Helius told me to wear it," he shrugged.

"You know, your shrugging is really starting to piss me off!" I muttered, as angrily as I could whilst still keeping my voice at a minimal level.  
>"Sorry," he replied, shrugging cockily.<br>"Why don't you have your own token?"  
>"I have nothing that means anything."<p>

"Find something! Ugh, this is so inconvenient."  
>"Before this interview, you would have probably said it was extremely convenient – the sponsors will love it and it shows unity. Just because now for some reason you're annoyed because I read a poem and I apparently shrug a lot, doesn't mean that you have to go around saying that it's not," he retorted coolly.<p>

"It's not just that you read a poem and you shrug a lot, you idiot!" I said, as the male from District 9 started to walk up in his horrendous brown suit. Whoever styled District 9 in their earthy tones that year should have been fired.  
>"Then what is it? Because this time tomorrow, Harper, we're going to be in the arena! And I sure as hell don't have the time to figure it out!"<br>Silence. Again.

* * *

><p>Our jaws dropped so far I thought that they were going to hit the floor and bounce back up again. The tributes' shocked faces, along with the stunned expressions of the Capitol citizens in the audience, were all put on the screens, along with Katniss' shy look and Peeta's sadness.<p>

Katniss was… pregnant? Peeta was the father? In one year, since Katniss was entirely indifferent to him, and practically was unaware that he existed apart from a couple of memories, they've suddenly decided to get married and have a child? What was this? In what kind of disgusting society are we expected to kill a pregnant woman? That's like killing two people in one. I shuddered at the thought of it. The Capitol citizens were falling all over themselves in their grief, at the injustice of this murder we're being forced to commit. Nobody was expecting Peeta to drop a bomb like Katniss' and his new pregnancy, and it showed on all of our faces.

I felt sick. I didn't even want to go in the arena, put on a show for a bunch of sadists that think it's all well and good to kill a pregnant girl in the name of a good bit of entertainment. My hatred of President Snow and for the Gamemakers increased tenfold, mainly because of the nausea that was rising in my throat at that moment.

Caesar himself, to his credit, was trying to keep professional for the cameras and hold his composure, but it was clear that he was falling to pieces. Every bit of composure he had was shattered when Katniss transformed into the mockingjay, and this was the final straw. Cracks in his professional persona were starting to show even more clearly than the hints of the rebellion that had been inconspicuously dropped into this broadcast.

Katniss looked shocked, like she hadn't known she was pregnant until this very moment. I think she was just shocked that that fact had been put out on a broadcast which every single person in the whole of Panem was watching at this moment. Peeta looked heartbroken. It was like being invited to a grand banquet when you were starving and hearing it was cancelled before you even saw the entrée.

Seeder was crying uncontrollably, Cecelia had an expression on her face that told me she was thinking of her kids back at home, Chaff looked like he was about to projectile vomit all over the camera that was pointed gun-style at his face and the level of disgust that was written all over Johanna's face was no joke at this point in time.

This wasn't just about showing unity now. This wasn't just about showing up the Capitol, and it was just about throwing all of the corruption and hardship that President Snow had caused right back in his face. This was about the upkeep of basic standards of human decency, of human compassion. The rebellion was going to separate us, from the animals. And President Snow… well, I think that was pretty obvious. He was a snake.

* * *

><p><em>Well guys, Chapter 7 will be the last story in the Launch and Pre-Games Arc, and then we'll be going until the Quarter Quell Arc. Yay! You guys have been so awesome to me so far, and I can't wait to continue writing this story.<em>

_Next chapter, we'll find out why Harper's so pissed off with Finnick (ah, I love planning big twists ^o^) and how she'll fare in the arena, with all of big nasty careers and big nasty Gamemakers. Poor little Harper. Haha! :'3_

_I'm looking forward to hearing your opinions, and I have to say that I love your reviews etc. After I've finished this arc, I'll be posting a review reply and random trivia chapter which should be good, just to break up between the two major parts of the story so far._

_Lots of love for you guys anyway! Have great days and great weeks and do well in whatever you're doing ^_~_


	8. Chapter 7

I stormed into my room, kicking off the sandals that had been irritating my feet all evening as I did, I sat down on my bed, knowing he would follow me – just waiting for when he did. Like I predicted, his quick footsteps came bounding down the corridor and into my room, with no consideration to whether I wanted him there or not.

"What do you want?" I barked, my voice become more hoarse as I had tried to shout to Seeder and Katniss when we were getting broken up from them after holding hands on the stage. My hands were still singed from Finnick's touch, and for a moment I actually wanted him to hold me again, or at least hold my hands.

"What do you mean, 'what do you want'?" he said, standing in front of me as I was sat at the foot of the large bed with its silken sheets. "You know what I want! I want an explanation! What the hell was that show in front of everyone earlier? What do you think you were doing?" he said, anger showing in his red cheeks.

"What was I doing? _What was I doing?_ I was going mental, you, you idiot! What do YOU think you were doing?" I raged, considering slapping him around the face. My hands were now shaking from the anger that was flowing through my veins and I could barely contain how furious I was with him.

"What was I doing?" he stumbled through his sentence like he didn't know what either of us were trying to say. "What do you mean?"  
>"You went on that stage, and when you did that poem, you completely humiliated me! You made me mortified, in front of the whole country?"<br>"You were embarrassed?" he stuttered. "Why? Why were you embarrassed? Was there something to be embarrassed about?"

"Do you know what's really annoying, Finnick?"  
>"What?"<br>"It's the fact that you're carrying on," he started loosening his tie as I was talking, "carrying on as if everything is normal, as if you had good intentions, as if you really don't know why I'm shouting at you right now!"

"Do YOU know what, Harper?"  
>"What?"<br>"_I really don't know why you're shouting at me right now!"_ he yelled back, sighing afterwards. It scared me a little bit – I'd never really seen anything like this, and I'd never seen Finnick this angry before.

"What d-do you mean?"  
>"I did go on there with good intentions! And I came off, and I was expecting you to be happy, and then you went and yelled at me! You got angry at me and got irritated with the world and you won't speak to me on the last night before I might go and get killed!" he said, coughing out of nowhere as if his words were getting stuck in his throat.<p>

"You wanted me to be happy? YOU WANTED ME TO BE HAPPY?" I was now screaming, making my throat raw in the process.  
>"Well, yeah, that was kind of the point. It did kind of take a lot of courage on my part anyway – did you not like it!"<p>

"You go up on that stage and you proclaim that you're falling for _some girl, _who, by the way, I'm guessing is some Capitol _slut_ that you met a few years ago, and you expect me to be happy? Not only was I fuming at that fact by itself, Odair, it was also the fact that you took a poem, a song that came from where my heart is, from both of our homes, and you turned it into something for them. For _them."_

"H-Huh?" he stammered.

"That song was for _us, _Finnick. It was not for them, it was not for some Capitol bitch that wines and dines you with her fancy jewels and tattoos and expensive parties – who, by the way, I could probably never match up to, whoever she is – and it was not for the audience. That song is for Four, and that song is for _us._"

He looked down at me forlornly, giving me a morose stare from my bare feet with their painted gold toenails to my hair. As he was looking at it I swiftly removed its only pin, letting even more of the waves fall down where they were supposed to me. There was a moment of silence, a bitter, awkward moment of silence to match the other ones that we had experienced that night, and then he started moving.

He took one small step, closer to me, as if he was scared that I was going to vanish before his very eyes or that I was some kind of monster that was going to rip his head off if he ventured any further into my proximity. I couldn't really blame him – it was kind of how I had been behaving tonight anyway. And then, the space between us became narrower and narrower until we could have held a magazine between us.

He raised his hand gently, and placed his hand calmly on my cheek, holding my face so tenderly that I thought I was going to explode with the electricity between us. There was this unbelievable frisson and the tension was so great that I thought at any moment I was going to snap and throw myself at him.

He put his face closer to mine, still keeping up the teasing, slow pace, until our noses were touching and I thought he was going to give me a Eskimo kiss. Instead he just directed his line of vision until it locked with mine, his sea-green gaze fusing with my own dark brown stare. I didn't think I could keep it up. He blinked, his long eyelashes glinting in the moonlight from the open curtains, and then carried on with his intent look. It made me want to either just fall down, or fall down and bring him down with me.

Just as I was about to pull away, just as I was about to tell him to get out of my room and stop messing me about and go back to the city or whatever and his Capitol bitch, he came even closer, his lips on my jawline, a feeling that made every nerve ending close to it stand on end, waiting for their own turn.

I felt him moving, wondering what he was doing, until I realised he was dotting kisses along my jawline, up until he placed his lips softly on my earlobe, and then back along my jaw, leaving it fiery from his touch. I didn't know what I wanted until then, when I knew that I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and pull him as close to me as he possibly could be, and then not let him go until I really had to. But I didn't.

I let him pull away from me, leaving my skin hot from his lips, scorched by my own emotions. I let him look down at me and attentively look into my eyes, still cautious as if I was going to now kill him. I let him take a step back and look down at the floor as if he was guilty of a federal crime, and I let look sheepishly out the window at the moon which was beaming down on us.

"I…" my speech drifted off. I don't think either of us really knew what we were supposed to say then, after that.

He bid me goodnight, and went out into the corridor, closing the door softly behind him, soft like his voice, soft like his footsteps, soft like his touch, soft like his kisses. It left me in the dark, with only the moon to keep me company. I took off my necklace, shrugged off my dress, let it fall to the floor. I slipped on a pair of shorts and a vest top and curled up under the covers, hoping that I would maybe catch just four winks that night. Forty was a bit of a push.

The darkness seemed to sooth me. Even though I was tracing my jaw line with my fingers, bringing back that memory.

* * *

><p>It was about midnight. That's what I could see on the clock, when the door opened and a crack of light from the always-lit corridor beamed into my pitch-black room and illuminated the clock face. It reminded me of Plutarch's mockingjay clock face for a moment, but then I pushed that thought out of my head for a moment and turned lazily to see who it was who had come to visit me at midnight when I should have been sleeping.<p>

It was Finnick. And he brought company.  
>"Can we come in?" he asked.<br>"We?" I asked wearily. leaning over to turn on the bedside lamp and propping myself up against the pillows like an invalid.  
>"Yes, me and Haymitch," he said, as I took a gulp of water. I almost choked.<br>"What is Haymitch doing here?"

"Well, good evening to you too, sweetheart," he rolled his eyes. He placed himself at the foot of the bed, looking surprisingly sober. Finnick sat Indian-style next to me at the top of the bed.  
>"Haymitch is going to be our mentor."<br>"What? But he's from District 12."

"Yes, but Mags isn't well enough after her stroke to come and do it. Haymitch has volunteered in front of President Snow, and therefore been assigned the responsibility to take care of our sponsors whilst we're in the arena."  
>"Wait a minute…"<br>"What is it?" Finnick queried.

"If you're from a different district, then how do we know that you'll use sponsor money that's given to you for us… for us?" I asked. "How do we know that you won't spend it on Katniss and Peeta? I'm not saying I mean any harm to Katniss and Peeta, I mean, she's pregnant, but I'm just saying…"  
>"Oh, I thought this was over," Haymitch rolled his eyes.<p>

"What do you mean, you thought that this was over?"  
>"All this fighting between districts, only thinking of the number where you're from instead of doing things because you want to, and because you're actually a half-decent human being. District 12 isn't your enemy, sweetheart. Why don't you remember who your real enemy is? Or have you given up on the rebellion before its even begun?"<p>

"They could be listening to us," I said quietly.  
>"They're not. Screw them, what are they going to do? They're saving face. Even if they were listening to us – which they're not – they couldn't do anything because the citizens of their beloved Capitol would ask too many questions about their Casanova, their golden girl and… one of the drunken mentors," Haymitch sighed, taking a swig from a hip flask he seemed to pull out of nowhere. "You have nothing to worry about. I'll make sure you don't die."<p>

"Good," I huffed, folding my arms. "I mean, thank you, Haymitch."  
>"You're welcome," he bows dramatically, belching loudly afterwards. "But I can't do everything, so keep your wits about you and try to make sure that you don't die yourself… why don't we make that our Plan A?" he winks. "Good luck," he finishes, staggering off out into the corridor.<p>

"How did you get him in here?" I wondered out loud about the security.  
>"I don't know, I opened the door. There was no-one there," he replied. We were left in the dark again after Haymitch closed the door.<br>There was silence. Sweet, recurring silence.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked.  
>"Because of that… thing, earlier? No."<br>"What?"  
>"I'm not that easy. You can't take my mind off of your Capitol girl with a little kiss, Finnick," I exhaled loudly, rolling my eyes.<p>

"Harper, I don't have a…"  
>"Don't bother. You can either shut up on the whole subject and hold me until the morning or you can get out of here and wonder about it by yourself. Which option are you going to go for?"<br>"I'll stay here," he settles down under the covers and wraps his muscular arms around my waist, holding me close to him. He's so warm and comforting I can't help but push everything bad out of my mind.

"I don't want to go in the morning," he said, nuzzling into the crook of my neck.  
>"I don't want to let you go in the morning," I replied.<p>

* * *

><p>Adriana and Helius were standing in our dining room in the morning. They waited patiently until me and Finnick had gone to shower, and then accompanied us up to the roof, where I boarded a hovercraft. We were fairly early, seeing as people go in order from District 1 to District 12. The doctors injected the tracking device into my arm, which was only a twinge of pain, and then we took off towards the arena.<p>

Adriana pressed me to eat the last full breakfast I would get. I didn't feel like eating, but still, I managed to eat a plate of fried potatoes, pushing them around the plate with my fork. I knew any extra nutrition or padding that I can get now would almost certainly become an advantage once food is hard to come by in the arena.

In the Launch Room, she dressed me in this year's tribute outfit. It was a thin, blue jumpsuit with a thick padded belt made of purple plastic. The material was incredibly sheer and it zipped up at the front, which I supposed could come in useful in the future. The shoes were made of nylon, and had incredibly thick soles with grip on the bottom.

"Do you have any idea what this could be for?" I asked Adriana as she helped me into the shoes and fastened the belt.  
>"I don't know. It's too thin to offer any kind of refuge from the cold, but I suppose it could help if you have hot weather. It's plastic though – so they would be practically cooking you alive. There could be a lot of trekking to do from the soles with their gripping soles. I have no idea about the rest of it. It just makes no sense to me," she frowned, peering at the outfit from every angle. "It does fit well, though."<p>

I couldn't help but laugh.  
>"Custom-made. How many girls from the districts can say that about their outfits, after all?" I laughed. Adriana nervously giggled, but when she saw my genuine mirth, she did let out a laugh. It's better to laugh about things than worry about them, I find, usually.<br>"You're a lucky one," she remarked sarcastically.

She tied my hair up in a ponytail, scraping stray hairs back neatly and fastening it tightly to keep my fringe out of my face. She also put my necklace on for me. She let the pendant hang down across my chest. She turned around to me for a minute.  
>"Harper, I know everything," she said.<br>"You know what?"  
>"I know, I know what's going to happen. I know Haymitch. I know Katniss," she nodded. "I know about the rebellion."<br>"You do?"

"My heart is with you, Harper. Do it for me. Do it for everyone," she said. "Keep yourself and the Mockingjay alive."  
>"I will," I promised.<br>"Are you ready?" she asked, holding my hands in her motherly clasp. I looked into her eyes and realised that I actually was.  
>"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," I grinned. She pulled me into a hug suddenly.<br>"The triplets send their love," she said hastily.

I stood on the plate, and waved goodbye to Adriana for possibly the last time. The glass tube descended around me like a wall, and I felt my hands go out to the glass and probe it uncertainly, as if I was going to break through it and go back and hug Adriana again. Honestly, I kind of wanted to, but I didn't, and held my hands by my side again. Suddenly, I was worried for Adriana. I wanted to keep her close to me, and keep her safe.  
>I felt like if I was going to go and leave her alone and maybe Peacemakers would come and get her and I didn't want to leave her in harm's way. My heart started beating faster than usual, but when I looked down at her smiling, full face with a tear running down one cheek, I knew she would be alright. I pushed the bad thoughts of my head.<p>

As the plate rose further towards the arena, I realised that the emotion that I was feeling was fear. I was feeling an inexplicable amount of adrenaline – it was pumping through my veins. I realised that I was excited. I wasn't going to die, and hopefully I wasn't going to kill, but I was going to stick a massive middle finger up to the Capitol. It would be okay. Everything was going to turn out fine. The main emotion, was indeed adrenaline. I couldn't wait to stand up to President Snow and his slimy, snaky ways.

When I did feel fear, it wasn't for me. It was for Finnick, or Katniss, or Katniss and Peeta's baby. It was for Katniss' little sister, Prim and the little kids in District Four that couldn't look after themselves. I was strong enough to take care of myself in the arena, but I wasn't doing it for me - I was doing it for the ones that weren't.

And as the plate reached the top, and I looked around to the arena that surrounded me, I felt the adrenaline refuse to relent. The glass descended, letting me be immersed in the temperature of the arena, immersed in my surroundings. Yup, this was going to be harder than I thought. It was going to be difficult. There was a massive chance I could die, and if I didn't, it would still be unexplainably tough.

Well, I always did like a challenge.

* * *

><p><em>Well that's the end of the arc, my darlings :'D<em>  
><em>Did you like it? I hope you did. I'll be doing a triviareview reply chapter next to break it up a bit (think of it as the extras on the DVD of my story hehe) but then it'll be glorious Quarter Quell goodness. Hahaha ~~ I love you all. XD_

_(I love Finnick so much. Oh my God, I'm serious I nearly died writing this, sweet freaking apple cider)_


	9. Review Replies and Harper's Profile

_Review replies! ~_

Alice Williams – Thank you for being my first reviewer :3 I'm bogged down with exams atm, but I will totally update as soon as I find the time! x

JohnnyStormsGirl – Thank you!~ x

IrisObvious – Thank you to you too, your comments mean a lot ^-^ Thanks for reviewing twice, I'm glad to see that people actually return to my story when it gets updated. And thank you very much for saying it's well written! :'D I wonder about whether my writing gets bogged down and boring sometimes so it's good to know it doesn't!~~ x

ilovemedia18 – Thanks! I'm trying to keep it as slowly developing as possible, which could turn some people off xD But I don't like stories that are like .. ''Hi, I'm Harper..'' *1 day later* ''I think I love you.'' :'3 Thank you for reviewing three also :3 I'm really glad you like my writing =) I hope I never disappoint you in the future! x

Sarah-Leigh-Black – I'm glad you do ^_~ x

Amyb11 – Will do;) Thank you for reviewing =) x

2deVIL iN dISGUISE2 – What are your top two? I'm curious :p I think he's one of my favourites, but I also like Johanna, Haymitch and Cinna. :3 And thanks, I'm glad you like it :'D x

GirlWhoTookNightlock – Nice name Thanks, I'm so glad you like it, and I'm undecided on who I want to play Finnick. I have a funny feeling no actual guy will live up to how hot he is in my head. A lot of people say it should be a redheaded guy, but I think 'bronze' is more a dark kind of blonde. I'm leaning towards Alex Pettyfer, he's very nom. x

nevershoutalex8 – May I start by saying your pen name is awesome and Christofer Drew is so beautiful XD Thank you for your review. I loved Annie and Finnick's relationship in the books because it was so deep and pure whilst still being romantic. :'3 So I just wanted a piece of the action. Especially when it comes to Mr Odair. Woohoo! x

Tinker178 – Thanks for your awesome reviews, really, I'm so happy to read them. You falling in love with my story is a major compliment and it goes without saying I'm totally going to try and update as much as possible! x

Katty – Love your review. Seriously, thank you so much for picking my story as the best from the many thousands. It made my day to read this, and I'm so happy you reviewed. I will update soon! :'3 xo

Mary 1777 – I've updated now yay! But I agree that my updates are getting lazy, and I apologise sincerely for this – I will work harder, promise! x

FinnickFan177 – Ah :'D I love you for writing those things. Honestly, I will definitely continue. I have big big plans :P And talented? Thank you so so much! ^-^ x

TheCharmspeakingGirl – I know I tend to get up all caught up etc, and my editing sucks sometimes – I don't mean for it to be confusing but I don't think it distracts that much. Does it? Oh God. Hahaha :') And thank you thank you! Means a lot – both of your reviews… They are awesome, thank you again! x

Little Flipendo – So much love for your review, and thanks for the good luck. I'm trying to focus on them, but I got an A on my most important mock (happy dance) so I can write too. Yay. I hope the ending of this arc didn't disappoint, and don't worry, the most exciting part is to come! Thank you for everything! x

CSIGetteBlue – Hehe, alright alright. I'm updating as much as I can, thanks for wanting to read more I guess ^o^ x

anon – Whoever you are, more is coming. Don't worry :D Thanks for wanting to read more too! (: x

* * *

><p><em><span>Harper Quinn – A Profile ~<span>_

Basic Information

**Name: **Harper Quinn**  
>Age: <strong>24  
><strong>District: <strong>District 4  
><strong>Nationality: <strong>Citizen of Panem  
><strong>Ethnicity: <strong>White  
><strong>Gender: <strong>Female  
><strong>Victor of: <strong>67th Hunger Games

Personal

**Hair: **Brown, with a hint of red in it that shows up even more in the light. Her hair is wavy and has a short side fringe – in general it reaches halfway down her back.  
><strong>Eyes: <strong>Brown also with flecks of green and yellow, her eyes are big and almond-shaped with long eyelashes.  
><strong>Build: <strong>Slender, toned and skinny with a little bit of muscle and an inability to build muscle or fat.  
><strong>Height: <strong>5'5''  
><strong>Weight: <strong>112lbs  
><strong>Skin: <strong>Her skin is pale, and pearly with little imperfections. When she was younger she had a little bit of acne which made her unpopular with the sponsors, and in turn, with the boys, but that is cleared up now leaving only a couple of very small scars.  
><strong>Clothing: <strong>Outside of the arena, Harper likes her clothing to be fashionable, warm and functional. She likes jeans, sweaters and shorts, but she also likes pretty dresses, tights and heels when she wants to dress up.  
><strong>Marks or Scars: <strong>She has a couple of acne scars as previously mentioned, but they're very faint. When she came out of her first games she had dozens of stab scars and burn marks, but the Capitol cleaned them all up for her.

Personality

**Type of personality: **Harper is a very protective person with strong family values and a small sense of compassion. She is willing to make allies but also has a strong survival instinct and will willingly kill anyone who dares to get in her way. With her friends she can be funny and friendly, with her enemies she is intimidating – it all depends. To the public she is charming and humble. She has a tendency to take things the wrong way – i.e. take things as an insult when that wasn't the intention, or not pick up on things that are happening around her.  
>Her flaws are that she can have a lack of compassion for strangers and also she's an intent perfectionist. She always carries money for homeless people and musses her hair when she's nervous or upset. Her temper can easily get in the way when people are actually trying to get through to her.<p>

Social

**Friends: **Peeta, Johanna, Katniss, Mags, Finnick, Gale, Prim, Beetee, Wiress**  
><strong>**Family: **Her mother died when she was small (giving birth to her) and her father is a fisherman back in District 4.  
><strong>Sociability: <strong>When she has the chance to be with people, she can be social but she can cope perfectly well by herself, and enjoys her own company.  
><strong>Familial instincts: <strong>She was never really close with her father because they had nothing in common except their love for the sea, and he was never really around or able to take care of her properly. However she has an extremely strong maternal instinct that drives her to protect anyone younger than her and feel broody around babies.

Hunger Statistics

**Survival skills: **Silence, hunting, knife skills, knot tying, swimming, speed, nets, snares, hooks**  
>Weapons used: <strong>Knives, hooks, and throwing needles**  
>Weapons able to use: <strong>Knives, hooks, throwing needles and spears  
><strong>Best weapon: <strong>Hooks  
><strong>Winning technique: <strong>In her original games, she would creep up behind her enemies when she were doing something private, or on their own (usually washing or occasionally going to the toilet, which she disliked), put her hand over their mouth and slit their throat, leaving their body to bleed to death.  
><strong>Mentor: <strong>Mags. Finnick was unavailable as he had recently come of age and was doing President Snow's bidding and therefore they have never met since, as Mags and Harper have been doing the mentoring together whilst Finnick continues.  
><strong>Salute: <strong>A typical military salute with two fingers

**Speed/100: **83  
><strong>Intelligence100: **72  
><strong>Cunning100: **78  
><strong>Compassion100: **54  
><strong>Charisma100: **55  
><strong>Sponsor popularity100: **19  
><strong>Hunting100:** 52

Trivia

- Harper's fighting style is based on the covert agents and mercenaries of feudal Japan. Their main roles included espionage, sabotage, silent assassination and tactics. The two points of their intensive training that Harper uses in her games are _Shinobi-iri _(the use of silent movement and climbing for infiltration and assassination) and _Boryaku _(the use of unorthodox tactics – manipulation, and subtle influence).

- The military salute that Harper uses (dubbed the 'Golden Salute') becomes popular in the Capitol and the Districts after she salutes Caesar Flickerman in her tribute interview. In the districts, it signifies the rebellion, in the Capitol, it signifies support for Harper. It has been compared to Katniss' traditional District 12 salute.

- Also, Harper has got a little compulsion, similar to sufferers of OCD. She has to know the time at all times, or she feels extremely uncomfortable. Knowing the time gives her control over her life - the freedom to control everything (a paradox).

* * *

><p><em>Well, darlings. Let the Quarter Quell Arc begin! I hope you're looking forward to it. (;<em>


	10. Chapter 8

_Knees are weak  
><em>_Hands are shaking  
><em>_I can't breathe  
><em>_So give me the drug, keep me alive  
><em>_Give me what's left of my life  
><em>_Don't let me go_

* * *

><p>I gulp, taking in my surroundings. I see the water, rising slowly, reaching the metal plate that I am standing on and flowing through the ridges in the soles of my shoes. The rosy shade of the sky is a colour that my mind automatically associates with sunsets and warm summer nights back at home, and the sun beats down on my back. The humidity of the air reminds me of being on a beach in the height of August. A beach! I'm on a beach.<p>

I turn around, trying to get my bearings and feel balanced on the unfamiliar shoes. My knees are going weak, but I do spot Cashmere to my left. She glares at me, looking me up and down in a way that I know shouldn't make self-conscious at such an important time, but still does. I stretch upwards and take a deep breath. Suddenly you can hear a noise.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith, with his timeless voice that has come to signify doom, booms across the microphone. It's so loud that it pushes every thought, every bit of balance that I was starting to collect, straight out of my head. The clock is ticking. My heart starts beating faster and faster. All I see is water (easy), a narrow beach (fairly easy) and greenery (tricky).

I realise that I don't know what the time it is. The thought of this makes me feel really sick. I can't even make an estimate because I didn't glance at the clock before Finnick and I left the room. Finnick? Alarm races through my brain. I can't see Finnick. The only person that I can see is Cashmere, and then there's a long strip of dusty, dry land on either side of us. It leads up to the narrow beach I saw earlier. It's the same distance, the land and me, me and Cashmere and then Cashmere and the next strip of land. It's a wheel, by the looks of it. That's what I can see anyway.

I'm too busy thinking about the layout of the arena. When the gong sounds, the first thing I see is Cashmere flying through the air towards me. She has jumped from her own metal plate and is heading very fast towards mine with power in her legs like a poisonous tree frog. Without thinking about it, I remember my very first lessons on what to do if a sea predator attacked you whilst you were out on the boats.

"Stay very still," I remember the teacher's voice. Nice idea, but that isn't really going to help me. "Keep underwater for as long as possible. Trying to keep yourself afloat will cause vibrations in the water that will alarm the animal," I recall further lectures. That's it! I dive into the water, feeling instantly at home and a thousand times more buoyant as I hit the shimmering blue. I'm sure to take a deep breath before I go down – I can hold my breath for just under five minutes including an exhale. We're taught that very young and practice often.

Paddling backwards to keep myself as deep as I can possibly be, I stick the tip of my tongue out tentatively, weighing up that it's less risky than opening my eyes. Sure enough, it's water that's extremely salty (which is why it's tiring me intensely to keep underneath it) and if I had opened my eyes then I would have been going blind. I feel my lungs starting to contract as I start to run out of oxygen.

As slowly as I possibly can, I start letting out what little air I have. The bubbles rise to the surface and I can hear them pop on contact. However, after letting out the gulp of air that I had managed to keep with me, my lungs go into overdrive as they usually do. I rise to the top of the water and put the top of my head and my eyes above to the air. I flick open my eyes. I can see Seeder, bleeding to death. Cecelia is already dead, her eyes shut peacefully. The man from District 5 is slumped, mumbling to himself with a gaping wound in his chest.

All I can see is Seeder. She's in so much pain, whimpering as her breath quickens. I think of Cecelia's three children and it makes me feel ill. Why should we have to do this? Why should they have to die? Forget that, Harper. Look after yourself. I take a huge breath and submerge myself again, waiting for the bloodbath to be over. I do this in total over ten times, and when I get up, checking over my back and swimming smoothly through the water, there is no-one to be seen apart from the dead bodies. I can only see Seeder, who is now floating, and the District 5 man.

As I get up to land, I give Seeder's bluish cheek a kiss, sweep stray hairs from her face, and preserve her dignity. I observe the wound in the alcoholic's chest, which is now covered in dried blood. It's a trident for sure. I don't even bother trying to preserve what little dignity he had when he entered the Games. I tend to distance myself from pointless activities. Especially when I have no time to lose.

Right, Harper. If you're going to make it in this arena what will you need? A pot, to boil water in, and a hook to catch food. And tributes. I need a pot, and a hook. The Cornucopia has at least that right?

I peer in the Cornucopia. Weapons. Just weapons. All kinds of weapons, mind you, from knives to axes to clubs, but nothing else. I don't think that they could have done anything more blatant to encourage a bloodbath. I rummage through them, trying not to cut my hands on the various blades. It didn't work. My blood starts dripping until I spot it, glinting in the light of the pink sky.

Harper, Harper! Come get me. A golden hook. Golden, of all materials. It's like they're making it for me. I grab it, and two other hooks, each of them about three inches long – not meant for fishes, meant for people. I also grab five throwing knives, tucking them in behind my belt, the blades facing down. Are you done now?

Now's the most important thing that someone can do when they're stuck in the middle of the arena. Run. I start running as fast I can back the way that I came, swimming first through the water, which is probably about 300 metres, and then running through the forest. I don't know if it can even be described as a forest – it's not like any forest I've ever seen.

The floor is the colour of coal, and spongy like it's covered in spare mats from the Training Centre, strewn with long vines with exotic flowers and blossoms – put there for you to trip on them. It's warm and even more humid then out in the open, and the trees with their thick canopies of lush green leaves put you in a perpetual dusk, even though the sky is the same cherry colour no matter where you go.

Apart from the fact that it's overly warm and moist, and the flowers could have been poisonous, the arena at the moment actually doesn't look that deadly. This is way too obvious and then something springs to mind. They're hiding something. Something will come out and bite you in the ass, Harper. Just you wait for it.

And of course, arenas are never this simple, are they? The year I was born, Haymitch's winning year, the 50th Hunger Games, and the 2nd Quarter Quell, the arena was breathtakingly beautiful. So lush was the landscape that many of the tributes stood in awe at its beauty, and forgot the fact that they were actually in a Hunger Games. That was their downfall – everything was poisonous.

We get told this all the time in District 4. It's sparked a whole range of little idioms along the lines of 'don't judge a book by its cover' and 'too good to be true'.

_"She seems nice."_  
><em>"I'm a little suspicious. With that many flowers, there's bound to be poison."<em>

I suppose Finnick and I are something of a novelty. We were born in the same year, in the same district. Even though now we're the same age, I won when I was sixteen in the 67th, and he won when he was 14 in the 65th. It's in late May, the Games I mean, my birthday is in October and his is in July, so we hadn't turned seventeen or fifteen yet. We both went in the Hunger Games and we both won.  
>And now we, the two kids who were born on the year of a Quarter Quell, are here, competing in one.<p>

I loosely estimate around forty-five minutes later, I'm as far as I can go. My mouth is dryer than my hair, my suit, my skin and anything else in the arena, and I'm seriously thirsty. Going any further is a risk – the forcefield on the edge of the arena must have been coming up soon. I settle down, wondering what to do next. The sun is high in the sky and I estimate again that it's just approaching midday.

What to do with my time? I make a mental list of the things that a person needs to survive. _Food, water, shelter, warmth. Finnick. I need Finnick._ I think back to the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, as I slump against a tree, checking there's nobody around. I do a quick scope and I can't see anyone within a few hundred metres in each direction. My back is against a tree which itself is in front of a thick bush that no-one could climb through, meaning I'll be able to see anyone that tries to sneak up on me because they'll have to come round the front.

The bloodbath. Who died? Seeder. District 5. There were more bodies – but I couldn't identify them. No! There was Cecelia too. I thought Finnick and Katniss would have waited for me, but they probably left way before the bloodbath ended and I came to the surface. As I'm thinking back to this, the first cannon sounds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. One in three tributes is dead.

So five people apart from the three are already dead. The morphlings. At least one of them is gone, so that leaves four. I guess I'll find out later. I start looking around. Grass. Perfect. Thank you arena. I can work with grass. I get up, picking all of the grass I can find. Then I weave a mat, maybe one and a half metres by three. It takes as long as it also takes for my brain to become fried. My tongue is so dry; it feels similar to a cat's. But to get anything from sponsors, I have to show that I'm not just sitting on my ass weaving mats all afternoon.

I place the mat on the floor, adjacent to the bush, and start stacking up branches I cut off with a knife whilst jamming the ends of them into the ground, so that the mat, bush and sticks make a triangle. I then take leaves, damp and heavy from the trees above me, and pat them gently on to my little shelter, weaving them in tightly between the sticks so it makes a thick, waterproof top. The white-hot sun has not set when I am done, but the pinkish sky has dimmed considerably. _Five o'clock?_

The problem, however, is not that there is too much water around here – it's that there's not enough. The roof of my mouth is getting uncomfortably rough and my stomach is starting to rumble like it's about to have a storm. The days I spent on the train and in the Capitol have trained it to be an impatient mistress, and half a day after I ate breakfast, it's beginning to make unpleasant shifting, out of hunger.

I think of the arena, from the salty water that I spent so long in, to the Cornucopia and its abundance of weapons, the spokes of land, the spongy ground and trees like rubber. My mind is fuzzy from dehydration and attempting to think too hard. My skin is dry, my urine is brown and when I stand up I feel dizzy beyond control. My heartbeat is slowly rising. But I can't think why.

Back in Four, I used to go for a day without drinking easily if I was swimming when I was little, or out on a boat without something to drink. It wasn't a big deal. I don't usually carry around water with me, and I drink a glass with each meal and more in the evenings. How come, now, when I need to desperately stay hydrated, at the top of my game, am I feeling lethargic and sickly from lack of water?  
>The answer is written on my jumpsuit. It clings to me so uncomfortably. The heat of the sun beats down and beads of sweat are falling down my temples, the backs of my knees, between my legs, my armpits. Every drop of water that I have conserved, that keeps everything going, is evaporating just as fast as I sweat it out. And that's the reason I'm here, sleepy and achy, wondering how I managed to become this helpless.<p>

I bring myself to my feet, grabbing a branch to steady my weak legs and taking a bright flower that seems inconspicuous. There is no breeze, so when I drop one of its petals onto the jungle floor, it stays where it is. So I ready myself, and go out, dropping them behind me, to face my Minotaur, stupidly, recklessly. _So what if you get killed on the way to finding water? If you had stayed there you would have been dead by morning. Like you thought that a Quarter Quell would never have risks._

I wander through, finding nothing. No water. Not even anything that I could possibly eat. My legs are getting too weak to support my weight, when I spot something in the trees. It's some form of squirrel, I think, but about ten times bigger, or something along those lines, and it has ugly fur and sharp teeth. I approach it warily, but it seems unfazed by the fact that my hand is going to my belt and pulling out a knife.

I prepare myself, and then spear it, grabbing my spoils and taking my pink path back to my little lean-to. When I reach it, I put the squirrel down in front of me whilst I take shelter. It's not a squirrel, no, but definitely a rodent, and it shows no signs of dehydration. This animal knows where to find water. And, now do I. I shuffle to the opening of the shelter looking around for rocks.

Tentatively, I place my finger on the first flattish rock I find and instantly recoil. Although the temperature is dropping, the rock is still burning hot. I pat it with mud and set about making myself a bowl out of wood. It takes ages, and its long, hard work, but soon enough I have a pot made out of the strong material that makes the trees here. I place it over the mud that makes a barrier between the burning hot rock and the flammable wood and test, for fire. After a while, it's still not alight, so I continue.

Then, I open up the animal, which I decide to call a quell squirrel, feeling like a scientist and look through the various innards, almost retching from the smell. I was always a little squeamish, and this isn't helping. I poke through until I find the thing that I'm looking for. The bladder is almost round, about six inches in diameter – this is slightly stretched, because it's very, very full. I feel like crying in happiness.

Now it's time for real work. I begin to dig, making holes with my knife to uproot the springy surface and then digging further with my hands like an animal, getting dirt in the dry cracks of my hand and underneath my nails. I make a general ditch with a slope, and two smaller ditches in it. The soil underneath is boiling hot and incredibly moist. This, however, is not drinkable.

I think back to days fishing, survival training, to see if I'm doing what I should be doing. I feel that I'm on the right track. I take my bowl and empty the foul contents of the bladder into it. It's plentiful. I place this in the higher-up of the two smaller holes. I place one of my cast-off grass mats into the smaller, lower hole to make it waterproof and wait until the urine is boiling in the bowl.

I take the mat that makes the surface of my shelter, place it over the top of my contraption, slanted towards the lower part and wait, smugly. The water that is in the urine should now boil, the condensation gather on the grass mat and slide down towards the lower hole where my waterproof grass mat is waiting to catch it. The majority should go in there, but some will go in the soil.

Seeing as I'm already muddy, I curl up in my shelter, watching the mat as if an alarm is going to go off when its done, watching to see if Cashmere is going to come back for me, or Enobaria. Although my mind is still fuzzy and I'm still as dehydrated as ever, if not more, it doesn't feel as bad now because I have hope. In an hour or so, I will have water to drink, which may be warm but will still quench my thirst, and my burning throat.

The moon has risen and it fills the arena with a glowing light that I can only describe as round. You can just make out everything, black, grey and shining, but you can't make out colours. I think back to my first day in the 67th, when I had my backpack and was now eating crackers and drinking purified water, camouflaged in my little hole in the ground. Things had seemed so easy. Even then, with an easy sort of arrogance, I had an inkling I would win. Now I'm only thinking of when I'm going to die.

The seal of the Capitol fills the sky and now I can make out everything, I can see the trees, flowers, and my little path of pink petals on the ground. I think back to all the victors – all the people I've seen around for so many years, all the kind faces I've met and talked to, and feel like crying before I even see the first face. It's the guy from District 5, the one that I saw at the Cornucopia.

All of a sudden I feel fear and relief at the same time. Fear – Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria and Brutus are all still out there, strutting around with the supplies that they've probably found, looking for me right now. Relief – Finnick is out there too, alive if not well, hopefully looking for me as well. He could be hurt, but he's still alive. And that means that I still have a chance; all I need to do is find him.

The next flurry of faces fill me with mixed emotions, all on a base coat of sadness. One of the morphlings from Six, as I had predicted, and then both Cecelia and Woof from District 8. Woof was bound to go, I can't even lie about it, and I remember Cecelia from the Cornucopia. I still feel sad, but perk myself up with the thought that Johanna is still alive too, as was expected. I wonder if she's with Katniss and Peeta, Beetee and Wiress perhaps, or maybe Finnick.

The unremarkable, easily forgotten tributes from Nine and the woman from Ten still put a twinge in my chest, and then Seeder's face flashes up. From all those years I'd seen her working hard for the tributes, trying to get sponsors – I remember her ordering the loaf from Eleven to be sent to Katniss, not Rue, when she died in the 74th. I was in the Control Room, there sending the gifts from the sponsors in, watching the money rack up for our tributes, as was expected – Careers. Mags was out socialising as well as she could. I wasn't a good enough actress to try and convince anyone to support the killing machines that we sent into the Arena when I clearly didn't like them myself. The first tear falls down my cheek as I think of Seeder. I mumble something out of my breath. Then I think, _screw it. The Capitol can't hurt me more than they already have._

"My thoughts, and my prayers, to Seeder's family on their great loss. She was a wonderful woman," I say, slightly hushed, straight up to the sky, where I can imagine they are televising me right now. I think of my father watching this, and feel slightly worried, but then I can imagine the little smile on his face when he sees it. He'd be proud, I'm sure. My voice is choked, and I give a small nod before shuffling along to my water.

There it is, as predicted, lukewarm in the mat at the bottom. I can barely contain myself as I empty the bowl from its residue, scoop up the water and gulp it down, carefully, not wanting to spill a single drop. It feels so sweet, so soft and soothing on my throat, clearing the fuzz out of my brain, quelling the fire that was raging on my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I feel so much better, now that the tiredness I'm feeling is from fatigue and not dehydration.

I take the mat, put it wet side down in the shelter and lay down on it, keeping a knife in my hand, and ignoring the small little voice that tells me if I die, it would be better to go in my sleep anyway.

* * *

><p>It's morning. My eyes flicker open, feeling weird slithers all over my body. I can see that the sun is hot and I need to pee, a strangely pleasant feeling after those long hours of not being able to pass anything. The sky is pink again and my skin is sticky. I feel lazy, but remind myself of where I am, wondering what the strange slithering feeling actually is.<p>

I become fully alert as I see the snake twist around my calf, and its small, pointy teeth puncture my skin.

* * *

><p><strong><em>BAM!<em>**

**_And the Quarter Quell begins, haha. _**  
><strong><em>Please review:'3 I love all of your reviews dearly.<em>**


	11. Chapter 9

_All because of you,  
>I haven't slept in so long<br>When I do I dream of drowning in the ocean  
>Longing for the shore where I can lay my head down<br>I'll follow your voice  
>All you have to do is shout it out<em>

* * *

><p>I spring to my feet, grabbing a knife and stabbing the snake without any thought. I also manage to stab myself in the process, but it isn't deep. It's long, at least five feet with green scales patterned with deathly black tendrils. It has large, bulbous eyes and doesn't look like the sea snakes that we get back in Four. I'm thinking that the snakes must be mutations and then suddenly the thought comes into my head that if they're mutations, then the venom will be worse than any natural snake I've ever known.<p>

The two small little punctures where it bit me are starting to bleed a little bit, turning red around the edges and growing into two small hard bumps like cysts. Another snake is around my waist, as quick as anything, and I grab it and stab it too, throwing it to the ground. But it's too late. The venom has entered my bloodstream quicker than I expected it to, and I'm out like a light.

When I wake up, it takes a few moments, like the morning, until I remember where I am and what happened just a few hours ago. I know it's a few hours because now the sun is almost at the highest point in the sky, so it must be an hour or so before midday. The sky is pink as always and I wish, foolishly, for variety. I then shift back into my snake-less shelter like it'll offer me any protection. I run my fingers over my body and encounter, to my horror, not one or two, but six snake bites.

One on my neck, one on my calf, one on the back of my thigh, one on the top of my arm, one on my torso and one in the small of my back. They are all similar to the one I had earlier. Two small, hard little bumps where the teeth contacted the skin, red and inflamed, and extremely painful. I can't think. My heartbeat is faster than I've ever felt it before – faster than dehydration, faster than Finnick's kisses. My mind flicks back to them happily, and I feel more at rest. Out of nowhere, I can hear waves, like I'm sailing again. I must be hallucinating, because the waters near the Cornucopia were still.

I get up, leaning against a tree and trying to think straight. I'm dehydrated again, and hungry. I have gone a whole day without food now, because I was too tired and thirsty to eat the quell squirrel when I knifed it down from the trees. The smell of its decomposing flesh fills the air, along with the moist, unpleasant smell of humidity. My hair is greasy, and my face is clammy. I'm cold, despite the weather, and inexplicably muddy. I can't help but thinking what a mess I must look like to sponsors. It must be why they're not saving me, as I'm stood here, about to die.

I crawl, look around for anything that could help me when I leave this little death trap. I take the grass mat it took hours to weave, the only fruit of my efforts, and I take the bowl that I carved. I don't want to touch the dead quell squirrel, so I leave it festering on the ground and begin to make my way downhill. Crawling is much easier than walking and I manage to keep a pace that means when I'm done crawling for around half an hour and can see the Cornucopia on the horizon, I'm close to collapsing. I stop for a few minutes to rest, and realise that I can't start to move again. I never should have stopped.

Because of the bites, I have lost all ability of movement in my left side. I think back to how Mags was when she had her second stroke, similarly afflicted, her left side sagging and her speech lagging. I try to make out some words, but the left side of my face won't co-operate. I resort to using the strength on my right arm and leg to drag myself across the floor until I reach the sand. I look like a cripple.

I think. _Which is the better option? Do I crawl along the spokes of the land until I reach the Cornucopia, or do I try and swim? How about the salt water? _ I remember the tributes that were using the belts as flotation devices when we first got in the arena, and decide wholeheartedly that the water is the better option. I prepare myself, gradually, take a deep breath and with a strong push from my right leg, land in the water.

It is clear now. It is definitely clear now with the searing pain that consumes everything I am, the burning agony that hits me so badly I almost pass out from it. It starts from the bites and then radiates to my entire body until I cannot help but convulse uncontrollably. It is clear now, from the throbbing sting of my pulse pumping blood to my helpless extremities, that the water was _not _the best option.

The salt water is killing me in no uncertain terms. I am now stranded, helplessly, in the middle of the water, turning around with my lopsided front crawl. I manage, with a lot of pushing from my good leg, to grab a hold of the nearest piece of land and pull myself towards the Cornucopia. I can't think, I can't breathe, and my heart is beating in irregular, on-and-off rhythms. I'm just thinking the end is coming, when I reach the sand and see them, on the other side of the sea.

They seem to be rotting worse than the quell squirrel. I pull myself towards them, the weird, human bodies covered in disgusting, foul grey-green ointment. The pungent, sour smell hits my nose, but I can't do anything about it because my right arm is too busy pulling myself towards them. I think quickly that it could be the Careers, but they aren't going to be out in the open like that. Besides, when I hear two familiar laughs, I know its them.

I try to scream for help but I can't make any comprehensible words, so I just groan as loud as I can. My throat is dry and raw but I still make a strange noise which catches on of their attention. He comes closer hesitantly, until I'm staring straight into the bright blue eyes of Peeta Mellark. I realise what I must look like to him.  
>I'm crawling with one side of my body sagging and not moving. My skin is clammy and pale with dried blood and mud, covered in large red blotches and purple and brown bruises from the damage the venom is doing from the inside. My eyes are wild, and I can feel the heavy bags underneath them. My ponytail came apart in my sleep and now my hair is crazy, whilst I now cough up a large amount of blood. I can't say anything intelligible. Am I even recognizable?<p>

"H-Hel… muh," I say, spitting up another glob of blood. I meant to say '_help me'. _Now Katniss and Finnick are getting worried, and they are approaching me too. Katniss has her bow drawn, as if she's scared that I'm someone else. Who else am I going to be? I'm not muscular enough to be Johanna, I'm not blonde enough to be Cashmere and I don't have the same straight black hair as Wiress.

"Harper?" Finnick asks. Trust him to be the one to recognise me. I nod my head with as much energy as I can manage, and turn around to look at him pleadingly. "Let's get you sorted out."  
>"N-N… Ngh.""What?"<br>"N-No p-p…" I say, shaking my head and convulsing as I begin to vomit, even though it's just bile and blood in a repulsive mixture. Peeta tips my head so it goes into the water. Just as I'm trying to articulate that there's no point, and I'm gone, a small silver parachute comes down from the sky. I'm hoping it's meant for me.

Finnick opens it hurriedly and it's a syringe. The liquid is a metallic orange colour, and reeks of disinfectant – shipped straight from the Capitol.  
>"It's for her, right?" Katniss says. Finnick nods.<br>"I think so," he says, and grabs my thigh, ripping open the jumpsuit and carefully injecting the liquid into my major vein.

The effect is almost instant. I can breathe, and my heartbeat becomes slightly more regular. I sip water and lie down whilst the pain gradually lessens. When Katniss and Peeta are sure that I'm okay, they go off to hunt. Well, Katniss goes off to hunt, and Peeta goes off to gather something for us to eat. Finnick is meant to be keeping watch, but he sleeps restfully next to me. I don't want to wake him up so I let him sleep, holding a knife ready.

He looks so peaceful in his sleep. I would expect him to be much more restless in his sleep, but I guess that in his dreamland he's forgotten where we are. His hair is shining in the light, and I stroke it pensively, thinking to the time when he did the same when we were back at the Training Centre. His knuckles are white from where he's gripping his trident. I unclasp it from his hand, knowing it could put us in danger, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable. He gives me a small smile for my efforts. Obviously his dreamland is a little more peaceful now his body doesn't have to be constantly alert.

I start doing something to relax myself. Counting. Not just anything, but seconds. One Mississippi, two Mississippi… Anything. It's driving me insane, not knowing the time. It makes me helpless. It's about midday now, by the looks of the sun, but I can never be sure. When I hear splashes and see red, I begin from zero. I like having something meaningful to start my counting from.

When I reach around 45 minutes, Peeta and Katniss return, both mainly empty-handed, except Katniss has a quell squirrel. They are on their way to talk to me, to check I'm okay, but the now awake Finnick makes them back off, not wanting to distract me. When I reach 60, finally, I can relax. Until I see three people I don't recognise approaching us from the horizon, one clearly one sandwich short of a picnic, and one dragging the other. They are brick-red from head to toe as if they've been bathing in cherries.

When they get nearer, the one carrying the third one drops him and shoves the crazy one over so she lands on the ground. Now her two loads are gone, the strongest one is more recognisable. She puts one hand on her hip angrily, kicks the ground and shouts out for someone to help her, ruffling a lot of blood-red crap out of her short, spiky hair as she does so.

"Johanna!" Finnick says, rushing over to embrace her. I feel a little twinge in my chest, but I can hear them catching up – he's obviously relieved to see her.  
>"Nuts and Volts?" I can hear Peeta. <em>Beetee and Wiress? How did Johanna end up with them? <em>I stay in the same position, slumped on the little beach, horribly thirsty and extremely hungry too. It's been a day and a half since I ate, as I calculate, and I'm feeling starvation start to set in. I grab Peeta as he's passing – I'm about two metres away from the little group, and it's like they've forgotten that I'm still sat here.

"Harper? You're better?" he asks me.  
>"I think so," I try and make out. Making understandable words is easier now I'm not convulsing in pain, but it's still hard. The movement in my left side has not returned though. "Please. Water. Food," I look at him earnestly, working out that I'll probably be communicating through my eyes for the foreseeable future. He gets closer to me.<em> What?<em>

He then scoops me up and brings me over to where everybody else is. Beetee is pretty much naked by the looks of it, and he's seriously wounded. Wiress is sitting, talking to herself, tick tock, tick tock. Finnick and Johanna are talking about blood rain, something about how it was so thick and heavy you couldn't talk or see…  
>"An hour!" I burst out, as best as I can.<p>

"Can she not talk now?" Johanna asks Finnick, concernedly, from what I can hear.  
>"She can't move her left side," he explains. "What was that again?" he asks me.<br>"Hour. An hour. 60 minutes. The rain, 60 minutes," I said, sounding I had no teeth in, or I'd just had my mouth numbed by a dentist. Wiress lunges at me and for a moment I'm scared, until she's clasping my hand in hers, crying.

"Crying?" I ask.  
>"She's happy," Johanna sniffs. "I don't know why."<br>"An hour, Wiress?" I say to her. She nods enthusiastically, and repeats again.  
>"Tick tock."<br>"It's a clock!" Katniss says.  
>"An hour," I say.<br>"Tick tock," Wiress says.  
>"For each section, an hour, a different trap," Katniss says. "It's a clock!"<p>

She explains her theory to everyone, and we all have to move across the side to the other side of the beach. This time, instead of reaching the sand, I stay where everyone is washing and catching fish, using the belt as a flotation device. The water is no longer excruciatingly painful, it anything it makes me happy, giving me a lovely feeling of buoyancy. Finnick hands me the bowl I brought with me without saying a word, now clean and full of water. I gulp it down eagerly, and he keeps refilling it until I have drunk probably about six bowls. My stomach is now full of water but I'm still hungry. He pulls me into shore and hands me shellfish, similar to the ones at home.

Johanna and Katniss seem to be having a heated exchange.  
>"Maybe we should all be careful where we step," Finnick suggests, giving Katniss a look. "Here's your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it."<br>I watch the sky. It's now burning hot, but I just tip and put my shoulders under the water if they get too warm. The ointment that has seemed to protect Finnick, Peeta and Katniss' skin from the sun is running out, and there's a risk of sunburn. I want to talk to Finnick so badly, but he's so busy and I can't even say hello without making a fool of myself. I pull myself to the shore, taking off my belt.

Time goes slowly. We go back to the Cornucopia and everyone occupies themselves, talking about canaries in coal mines and the like. I only get someone's attention if I need water, and this situation seems to work out well for all of us. I amuse myself watching Johanna throw axes that stick in the Cornucopia and feel around with my good arm for my own weapons. My hooks are back where my shelter was and I can't and don't want to go back. I have one knife left.  
>"Finnick," I nod towards him, where he's testing out new tridents on the Cornucopia. "Finnick."<br>"What?"

"Hook. Hook, please. Hook," I repeat, spitting out the world with every ounce of effort that I can muster up.  
>"What?" he looks confused.<br>"Hook. Hook!"  
>"Oh, a hook," he says, calmly, tossing two large hooks towards me. I dodge their sharp ends and pick them up. Is he too busy with Johanna Mason?<p>

I want him to talk to me so badly that I feel like screaming. I was mad with worry when I was on my own – was he not worried about me? Did he take back everything that he said when we were on our way here? I must have really annoyed him when I was talking about his girl from the Capitol – maybe he's avoiding me now to see how far he can drive me insane. It's annoying already and it hasn't been that long.

I stay where I am, not drawing attention to myself, drawing with the hooks in the sand. They are drawing a map and I'm about to contribute, when suddenly I see something approaching. It's Gloss, and Cashmere. I'm about to scream, but Cashmere throws a knife which I take the abdomen, mainly from the fact I couldn't slither away fast enough. This time I really do scream, but it's too late. Wiress is on the ground, her neck slit open. Now, everyone has notices. Gloss gets an arrow which I assume comes from Katniss, straight in the temple, and Cashmere gets one of Johanna's axes in her chest. Finnick takes a knife from Enobaria in the thigh whilst protecting Peeta, and the two tributes from Two run away as fast as they can. The cannon sounds, three times. Wiress is gone, and so are the siblings from District 1. The hovercraft is coming, when Katniss swims out to get Beetee's wire from Wiress' stiff hands.

When she's back and the hovercraft is gone, we all get to take a breath. I take Cashmere's knife out of my stomach and toss it into the water, whilst Finnick takes out Enobaria's knife from his leg. Suddenly, before anyone even gets a chance to talk, the circle of land which we're sitting on starts to spin crazily fast. I've never seen anything like the speed, and I only have one slippery hand to grab on with, which loses grip pretty fast.

I'm tossed onto a strip of land, the impact knocking all of the wind out of me, and then I roll into the water where thankfully my belt keeps me afloat. My bad side is underwater, and I'm lopsidedly trying not to breathe water in through my nose. The salt in my wound is so painful, but I grit my teeth and tell myself that it will help it heal. We always used to use salt water at home. Home.

When it finally stops, Johanna, Katniss, Peeta and Finnick are looking dizzy, and they step off. Beetee was thrown off of the Cornucopia like I was, and Finnick dives in to save him. Johanna comes to pull me in, and I feel better when I'm on land. _Why was I the one that had to end up like this? I know Beetee's wound is awful, and_ _Finnick just got hurt, but I can't do anything. I'm a hassle. _

Johanna suggests that we get away from the island, and everyone seems to agree, so we make our way towards land again. She gives me a piggyback on the way to the land, and I nod at her gratefully. She gives me a small smile, looking at the ground.  
>"Sorry," I say.<br>"Why?" she asks, frowning.  
>"Blight. Sorry."<p>

"It's okay. Maybe I'll be back home before we know it," she grins, holding the axe. We both know that winning the Games is not the way that she plans to get home, but neither of us say anything. We just sit enjoying the silence. Katniss and Finnick go off to tap water, and the two of us along with Peeta sit calmly enjoying the fact that we're still alive. I ask Johanna for some water and she obliges, and we go back to silence.

Peeta begins drawing up another map – we lost the old one when we were flung from the Cornucopia. 12 – lightning. 1 – blood rain, the one that Johanna, Beetee and Wiress emerged from. 2 – fog which almost killed Katniss, Peeta and Finnick, I am told. 3 – monkeys which kill, where we were now. 10 – a saltwater wave. 11 – deadly insects, with buzzing, clicking noises. I go to follow Finnick and Katniss, wanting to move.

I hold trees and hop across the forest floor, trying to follow them across. I was there, feeling more independent than I ever had. I think back to everything that has happened this horrible day, of all the death and destruction that we've been forced to endure. To Wiress' cold body floating on the water and to the pain of paddling through the salt water with the snake bites. To Finnick taking a knife in the thigh and Johanna coming out from the blood rain, saving Beetee and Wiress. To the unbelievable frustration of having a fully alive, well mind and not being able to voice your thoughts.

I think of my dad, back home in Four, probably watching me anxiously on the TV screen in our house. He could be, or he could be out fishing with his friends. I consider the thought, and then decide that he's probably at home watching me – he always was a worrier. He's probably going insane right now, but I decide to flash a smile up to the sky to show him that I'm going to be alright.  
>I catch the two of them up and Katniss nods in acknowledgement. Finnick hasn't seemed to notice that I've appeared and instead turns to her.<p>

"Katniss, got that spile?" he asks her. She takes a knife and cuts what is holding the spile to her belt, which is stacked up like a utility belt. As he goes to reach it I notice his new token, which seems to have replaced the necklace he wore that matched mine, a gold bracelet made of flames. So he's thrown the token away, too? I have barely enough time to be angry with him before an blood-curdling scream fills the air. I recognise it from interviews last year, but only vaguely.

Katniss, however, drops the spile and darts off into the trees.


	12. Chapter 10

_I would scream at the top of my lungs  
>Cause you know we were wrong from the start<br>I'd say take back everything you said that you didn't mean  
>Which was everything<em>

_If I had the words_  
><em>Oh I'd steal<em>  
><em>I'd steal your breath away<em>

* * *

><p>Off she goes, into the foliage, knifing down vines that are in her way like a woman possessed. I'm about to follow her until I realise what's happening – it's Prim's voice. I remember the usually calm voice that I had heard on the tribute interviews the year before, the cute little tone of a twelve-year-old girl from a humble district. Even her normal voice talking about her sister stirred my heart, and her screams are making me feel awful. How must Katniss feel, hearing these awful shrieks?<p>

And more importantly, how have they managed to get Prim's voice in here anyway? Have they actually got her in the arena? That would be entirely new, something never ever seen before. Is that even allowed in the rules? _Are there any rules? _Then my mind flickers back to the time where they talked about the mutations in school and I remember what the birds that are flying over our heads are. They're jabberjays.  
>"Prim!" Katniss screams. I go after her, deftly hopping over vines strewn across the ground, getting used to swinging my legs in just the right way to get momentum to move.<p>

I'm not sure what they used to get Prim's voice in here, until I look up and see them crowding on the branches, looking down at her. She takes them all out with arrows, throwing the disgusting animals as far away from here as what's possible. Precious meat that she could never eat, thinking of her little sister's voice so clearly mimicked by the horrible birds. They should never have existed after the war. They must have brought them back after the way. A jabberjay revival. The thought makes me snort in disgust.

That's some trick that the Gamemakers have thought up this year. Finnick finally joins us, crashing through the trees just as Katniss wipes her arrow clean.  
>"Katniss?" he says, honestly concerned. He hasn't even noticed I'm here.<br>"It's okay. I'm okay," she reassures him, though it's obvious that she's not. "I thought I heard my sister but-"

She's cut off by another scream by another voice. It's not by a child as young as Prim, no way. It's definitely a young woman's – there's no two ways about it now that I hear it - and it's as familiar as it could possibly get, apart from it's been altered in some way. Probably changed in some Capitol lab to inject the highest possible amount of horror. It's not just any voice – it's my voice. It's the screams that came out when I was in the water and trying to get their attention, the ones before they heard me.

All the colour drains from Finnick's face as he bolts after the birds that are screaming in bizarre mutations of my voice. I can't help thinking that I could never believe they'd put a family member of mine or a friend in the arena. But he's off before I can say a word, say that I'm here or say that I'm okay. Katniss grabs me and hoists me on to her back and we're tearing through the jungle before I can object or agree.

"Harper!" Finnick screams. His voice saying my name sounds so good that I temporarily forget that we are in a serious situation. The jabberjays aren't as obvious now – they're hidden in the leaves, up in the trees where we can't reach them as easily. No doubt there are Gamemakers sitting in their high-tech rooms planning exactly how they will evade us, planning exactly how they will drive poor Finnick insane.

I try to scream, to make any kind of obvious noise to show him that I'm here and not there, but no noise goes out. Katniss warns me against screaming, saying that it will make him think that all the other screams were real. I can see that by the way Finnick is looking around, wide-eyed, that this could definitely be true, and resign myself from my idea of screaming to get his attention.

Instead, I try and just say something but my face is so powerlessly limp and uncooperative that it's pointless even trying to say something when all that comes out of my mouth is a string of incomprehensible grunts and noises. Again, I think back to Mags after her second stroke, the one that really got her, and a bizarre feeling of nostalgia washes over me – for Mags, not her strokes.  
>Katniss places me on the ground softly and I bow to thank her.<p>

"It's nothing," she says, trying to find the jabberjay with her bow poised and ready to shoot. Finnick's going insane, his screams haunting me. He's trying to find where they're coming from whilst trying to cover his ears completely and the combination of the two is definitely not working. Katniss spots it and takes it out with an arrow so it falls at his feet.

"It's all right, Finnick. It's just a jabberjay. They're playing a trick on us," she says. "It's not real. It's not Harper. Harper's here."  
>"W-What?" he says, turning to me. "You're okay?"<br>"Yeah," I mutter.  
>"Where did they get the screams from?"<br>"Earlier," is all I can say.

I brushed a hair out of his face, tucking it back with the rest of the bronze.

"Why did they use them?"  
>"It's a trick. They used it on me as well. You heard, right?" Katniss says, still rocking.<br>"Yes. They used Prim. Where did they get Prim's screams from?" he asks. Katniss' face turns white instantly, and I don't want to think about the horrible images involving her little sister that were then in her head.

"It's not just the screams," she shakes her head as if to throw the thought away. "It's the thought that comes with them – they make me think of my sister in pain," she frowns. At this point, with this new thought in his head, Finnick clutches his ears as my screams begin again. Along with a different, more gruff groan of pain which matches mine in a low harmony. It's familiar. It's…

"Dad!" I shriek, trying to run off after the bird that's dared to try and imitate my father's voice. The same images that probably plagued Katniss fill my head. My father, in a clinically sterilised room like the ones in hospitals, getting prodded and poked with all kinds of disgusting instruments of torture until he produces just the right scream for getting me worked up. Just the right pitch – holding the note.

His screams are invading my head and I can't think. Sure, my screams, they would have just taken from earlier and adjusted the pitch slightly maybe. But Prim's screams, my dad's screams – where would they get them from? What are they doing to my dad that means that they can get these horrible noises? They're so repulsive, echoing in my head and ringing clear in my brain.

I fall to the ground, knees hunched before me. I press my left ear into my leg and hold my right hand over the other until now they're just muffled. Katniss and Finnick, catching me up, kill three jabberjays which fall to the floor, ending the screams, finally. They're about to relax, to tell me okay, when the relentless screams return. This time it's a voice that I don't recognise at all – it's a young man's voice. Katniss practically disintegrates right in front of me and goes off running. Finnick sprints after her, naturally. I can only hobble behind.

She's running and running. In the distance I can see Peeta and Johanna, standing with their palms up as if they're signalling to us somehow. Katniss, filled with anger, runs towards them and Finnick joins them until they hit some kind of transparent wall and come flying back. Finnick's nose starts spurting blood and Katniss clutches her shoulder. Beetee joins the two on the other side and as I'm in line with Finnick and Katniss, I reach my hand out to touch the invisible barrier. It's like a wall. I can lean against it easily, and despite anyone's efforts, no-one is going to be able to break it. We're trapped like circus animals.

I think back to Plutarch Heavensbee with his mockingjay clock, sitting in one of the main rooms of the centre where they control the Games. It's a centre that I've been in many times before, seeing as the Control Room where I can send my tributes parachutes is in the same building, but I've never been in the room where they create all of the yearly horrors that amuse the Capitol audience. It's strictly forbidden if you're not a Gamemaker or a Capitol resident that pays very highly.

Then I think of all the effort that must have gone into this one sector. It's a well-oiled machine, indeed. They would have had to make the screams, train the jabberjays, make sure that were trapped in here like rats in a shoebox and then put that wall around us. Somewhere in the Capitol, somewhere, watching us with likely amusement on his or her face, there is a Gamemaker who originally thought of this idea.

Was it a company meeting? Was it a boardroom gathering on a Monday morning where somebody piped up that perhaps they should emotionally _destroy _the tributes in this sector? For a laugh? For something new? Did they say this over coffee? Was there any dissent from the people around the table, or did they agree wholeheartedly? What are the circumstances that determined my psychological undoing?

Right now, Johanna is trying to talk to Finnick. Peeta's lips are moving. We can't hear either of them - the Gamemakers have muted anything that could ease the torture. We can hear neither their voices nor their footsteps as they pace back and forth as if the three of them are looking for a chink in the armour, a way to get in a help us. It's pointless; there's no way that they'll be able to break it.

Suddenly, a whole flock of jabberjays comes and surrounds us, like an ensemble of terror. It's crazy how they manage to make the sounds of torture from everyone that we love. Mags' voice is the most prominent to me, along with my father's, and her high-pitched, elderly screams are enough to make anyone go mad. It's so appalling and nauseating that I can't even cope with it, and start counting again. One Mississippi, two Mississippi…

Out of the blue, I can hear it, and he can hear it too. I pick out Finnick's voice from the horrific shrieks, and I start to break down. Gamemakers are too clever for their own good – they know exactly how to break you. I know he's here, and I know he's safe, but it's just the thought of him making those screams, tormented in one of the Capitol's numerous rooms of torture, is making me want to vomit and cry at the same time.

When finally the noises stop, I feel myself on someone's back. I find to my surprise that it's Beetee, carrying me in a precarious fireman's hold away from the jungle and down back to the beach, where we stay. Peeta is carrying Katniss and I find that Johanna has actually managed to piggyback Finnick all the way there too. I suppose that it's best that Beetee had carried me – I weighed at least 50 pounds less than a very muscular Finnick, so I'm the lesser of two evils.

Peeta is whispering sweet, soothing words into Katniss' ear to get her to calm down but she's a shambles, so shaken up from Prim's voice. She's convinced that they've taped Prim's screams and got the jabberjays to mimic them. I rock back and forth with my arms wrapped around my knees, wondering about my dad. I'm a wreck, too, but how can I ask Finnick to comfort me when he's so clearly destroyed?

"He has a point," mutters Johanna.  
>"What point?" I try to say. She turns around, looking more patient than I've ever seen her in the arena. Maybe it's because I've always got along with Johanna, but she seems to be consistently tolerant of me, even when it means she has to carry Finnick a mile or so.<br>"They can't have tortured or killed anyone like Mags or your dad. When they get down to the final eight, they interview them, don't they? So they have to be alive."

I nod in way of recognition. Johanna decides to venture back in the forest to get water and Katniss tries to stop her because she thinks the birds will get her. Johanna makes a flat remark along the lines of having no-one left, which makes me feel bad for her. We stay on the beach, and I try to thank Beetee for carrying me. He nods humbly, twitching in his usual way, when he is interrupted by the sound of a cannon.

In the sector from six to seven, a hovercraft appears, and has to dip down five times to retrieve different, evidently distressed body parts. Peeta begins to draw a map, writing down the new things we've encountered. I fish with my hook and Finnick weaves a basket. Weaving, and similar activities, seem to calm your mind and make you focus on the things in front of you. That's why they're very useful.

Katniss picks up her arrows and is about to venture into the jungle. That's when I realize what time it is – when I can see the colour of my pink petals where she's about to go. I think back to how I thought it was just an innocent part of the jungle too, when I set up my shelter, drank my water and laid down to sleep. I even was suspicious because it just seemed that unremarkable – water to be had somewhere, if a little hard to find, and hot weather. That seemed pretty much it.

The pink petals that I had made sure stayed where I dropped them are the only reminder – in fact, along with the jabberjays, they tell us where we are on the clock. When I spot them lying still in the same position that I had dropped them in almost a whole day earlier, I know for sure that she shouldn't be going in there unless she wants to end up paralysed or dead.

"NO!" I scream. It's the most articulate word I've been able to pronounce so far, so everyone is a little shocked. "Katniss d-d… no go. Katniss no go. Snakes," I explain. I couldn't handle the 'n't' at the end of 'don't' so I end up looking like a baby.  
>"What?"<br>"Snakes. Bit me. Venom. Paralyze. No go," I explain. "We go now. We move," I suggest, starting to hop steadily across the spoke of land to the Cornucopia. Katniss sprints away from the snakes and hops into another sector before they can catch her, jumping into the water. We make our way back to the six o'clock sector, where we should be safe. We then sit down with our little meal of fish and see the Capitol seal appear in the sky.

Finnick finishes eating and rinses his hands off. When they're dry, he puts an arm around me as I finish my last piece of fish. I'm so shocked by this sudden show of affection, since he has barely talked to me since we met up again, and even been a little offhand, that I look at him with an alarmed look on my face. He looks back down at me.  
>"I need to talk to you," he says. I take a stick and write my reply on the sand. <em>Not now.<em>

Cashmere, Gloss and Wiress. The woman from District 5 and the morphling who was taken by the monkeys, Blight and the man from District 10. Familiar faces, all gone now. That's fifteen dead in total, leaving our little group (six), Enobaria, Brutus and…  
>"Who's left? Besides us and District 2?" Finnick asks what I'm thinking.<p>

"Chaff," Peeta says matter-of-factly. I think back to Haymitch and his friendship with Chaff. I couldn't have killed him before, and I definitely couldn't now. Haymitch pooled sponsor money that could have gone on food, water, and other things for the rest of the group on ridiculously expensive Capitol medicine. And I've seen the prices of medicine in the Control Room – it's not cheap.

How many people have gone with this sponsor money? Is it just people from the Capitol, which their bank accounts practically overflowing, who have taken no hardships to make sure that I don't die? Or is it the people in District 4 who have paid for me to still be alive and breathing today? They are not as poor as the other districts, but they sure as hell can't afford to sponsor tributes all that often. Is it even gathered pennies from District 12, the supposed lowest of the low, the laughing stock of Panem? Is the kind-hearted, poor people I've heard so many stories about, who have gone without food just to make sure that I didn't perish for the whole of the country to see?

A silver parachute comes floating down from the sky, containing small, cute square rolls. Peeta, the baker, obviously recognises them straight away.  
>"These are from your district, right, Beetee?" he asks.<br>"Yes, from District Three," he says. "How many are there?" he adds, whilst Finnick is counting them, holding them in his hands like they're the last bread he'll ever see.

"Twenty four," he finishes.  
>"Two dozen, then?" says Beetee.<br>"Spot on twenty four," nods Finnick. "How should we divide them?"  
>"We'll each take three," Johanna says. "Then we'll eat the rest at breakfast. If we're still here," she snorts.<p>

The joke makes me smirk. Katniss laughs a quiet laugh too. Johanna shoots her a less accusing look compared to all the glares she's been giving since we got here. We wait, eating the rolls – a good meal wherever you are, and still warm – until the tsunami has flooded out of the ten o'clock section so that we can go and set up camp there. A full twelve hours is provided for us now that the clock has gone on to the next spoke, although we can hear clicking like there's freaky insects in the next sector.

Johanna is pacing backwards and forwards like she doesn't even_ need _sleep_. _However, once Peeta and Katniss volunteer for the watch and some much-needed time alone, she's on a soft bed of leaves and out for the count. I keep telling my brain that it should get some rest too, but it doesn't seem to want to shut off. Especially when Finnick slides up next to me and begins to talk.

"Listen," he says. I take a stack of large leaves and the same rock Peeta uses to write the maps and began to write. _I'm not exactly talkative at the moment.  
><em>"Ngh," I pass it to him.  
>"Listening to your screams from the jabberjays drove me insane," he shakes his head as if its still echoing there. I point to him, stick two fingers up with my palm facing him, and then trace a sad face on my own. The meaning is clear. <em>Yours too. <em>Life is so much easier when you don't even _try _to speak.

"I'm sorry for how I've been since we saw you," he apologises, kneading his thumbs. I frown at him. _What do you mean? _As if I don't know the brusque way that he's been dealing with me since I turned up on that beach. "I've been abrupt… rude, almost. And I just wanted a chance to explain myself so that I don't go to sleep on it."  
>"Okay," I say. Short words are okay.<p>

"It's all been too much for me. Those screams. I knew where they were from. Partially – I remembered you pulling yourself towards us, those screams, the noises that came out of your mouth right then chilled me to the core. I remember the tears on your face, and how your ribs were showing… still are… how you were so thirsty, and coughing up blood. I honestly thought that we wouldn't be able to save you. I thought you were going to die," his voice veers off at the end, quietly.

"When you were better again, I was so relieved. But looking at you, looking at you struggling to keep yourself afloat, looking at you unable to talk, and trying to eat, hopping helplessly after us in the jungle, it made it so much worse. It just reminded me of how close I was to losing you, to never seeing you again, never hearing your voice. I didn't want to relive it. Helping you was so hard, I couldn't do it. Seeing you in so much pain, it hurt me so much. So I did the selfish thing and just shut you out. And I'm so sorry."

"Okay. Is okay," I nod.  
>"It's not okay," he says, a tear running down his cheek. "And when we were in the wedge with the jabberjays, hearing those screams, just thinking of you in so much pain. It drove me out of my mind," he shakes his head again. "It was disgusting. So sickening and terrifying that I just dropped to the floor. You understand, right?"<p>

"Yes."  
>"And then when I heard my own voice among the huge group of them, I took my hands off my ears and actually listened, just to make sure that it was me. I actually felt happy. It wasn't Katniss that was hearing me, but it was you. You cared enough about me, that they knew they could use me against you. And seeing this, it gave me this sick, depraved kind of pleasure that I look back on with shame. I've been such a bad person."<p>

"No. Is okay."  
>"It's not okay," he repeats. "What kind of person am I to you if that makes me happy despite the fact that you were going crazy hearing it? Isn't that kind of sick?"<br>"No," I shake my head. I take the leaf again and resume writing. _I was happy too. Relieved, that you hadn't forgotten you used to hold me in the night, and we used to sing together. And then I felt guilty, because of all those reasons. It's okay._

"Bracelet," I remember, slightly angrily. "Why that? Why no lock?"

"It was given to me by Haymitch," Finnick replies, soothingly, his arm around me again. It makes me feel sleepy. "I would have to show it to Katniss to show that we could be part of an alliance. To remind her who the enemy is," he says sternly and softly, and I know in an instant exactly what he's talking about. _I still have the key,_ I remember and toy with it.

"You okay?" I ask.  
>"Now? I'm much better. I wonder how Katniss and Peeta are getting on," he says, seeing their silhouettes in the moonlight on the horizon.<br>"Okay, you okay. We seep now," I say.  
>"Seep?" he responds groggily. <em>Sleep, <em>I write. _Double consonants are usually very ambitious. Bracelet was a fluke._

We lie down, and for a moment it's like we're in a bed with silky sheets back in the Capitol instead of on a hard jungle floor in the middle of a deadly arena. My eyes start to shut and before I know it, I'm some kind of seemingly never ending dreamless sleep that's more restful than I've slept in a very long time.


	13. Chapter 11

_The time has come  
><em>_To take me in your arms and touch these fragile scars  
><em>_You have the choice now so decide  
><em>_If you want in or out  
><em>_There is too much left for us to try  
><em>_You can't just give up now_

* * *

><p>I wake on my own, without Finnick's comforting embrace, feeling dehydrated and fairly dreamy. However, I feel much better thinking of our conversation last night, and I turn around to see Katniss screaming. I think of the baby in her stomach, kicking, and look at the pained look on her face too. Poor baby. Having a mother in the Quarter Quell would be no easy feat, and it deserves some props.<p>

I turn to the beach and hop along down to where everyone is calmly observing the floating down of another silver parachute, again with twenty-four little hot rolls from District 3. We eat four each, leaving six of the fresh ones for a later time, silently. Everyone is thinking the exact same thought, although no-one is going to be able to say it out loud. No-one probably wants to.

There are now only nine tributes left. and nobody sitting here expected us to be here on the morning of the third day with such a sparse amount of people left in the arena. _It's only a matter of time before Katniss and Peeta turn on us, _I think. There's very little chance that Johanna or Beetee will leave, because they both know exactly about the rebellion plans for the arena, but Katniss and Peeta don't. And they will be wondering which one of us they can bump off first – it may be a dreaded thought, but it's a likely thought all the same.

Once we're done eating, she grabs his hand and takes him into the water.  
>"Come on, I'll teach you how to swim," she suggests, giving him a look to which he obliges. Johanna gives me a look which means she knows exactly what's going on, and I nod knowingly. Isn't a little bit of a bad time to go and 'learn how to swim' when you've just eaten a copious amount of large rolls? It's a cover.<p>

Katniss' acting becomes even worse, as she doesn't even take the belt off of Peeta, which acts as a flotation device. He's not learning to swim if he doesn't have to help himself float, but it doesn't seem to bother either of them. Johanna and I keep stern eyes on them for the first while of their lesson, but after a while we both tire of it and Johanna goes to take a nap. Finnick is weaving a net and Beetee is mumbling to himself whilst wrapping and unwrapping his wire.

I am on the slope of the beach, laid down comfortably with one hand behind my head. I keep one eye open to watch Peeta and Katniss in the water, but I'm in a comfortable dreamlike state I don't really want to exit any time soon. Peeta and Katniss have stopped their little swimming lesson, which Finnick is also observing as he weaves, to scrub themselves clean, mumbling to each other.

"Hey, Finnick, come on in!" Katniss yells, motioning to him with a long, now scab-free arm. "We figured out how to make you pretty again!" she adds. Finnick jumps to his feet, his scabs and disgusting greenish skin still very unattractive, and springs for the water. I wonder what it's like for him, who has been lusted after by Four residents and the citizens of the Capitol since the day he stepped in the arena, to be covered in green-grey muck. I wonder what it's like being shocked when you don't look pretty. The thought makes me laugh to myself.

Nonetheless, Finnick's eyes brighten at the thought of not having itchy scabs and he dives in, creating a tiny ripple in the water rather than a splash, from his streamlined, perfect drop. They scrub each other, which is a comedy scene in itself, and reveal baby pink skin. I would like to go, and wash too, but I cannot go in the water without my belt on or I'll sink. They can just wear their underwear.

Just as the three of them are finishing up, Finnick comes out of the water towards me.  
>"Do you want to go in the water?" he offers gently.<br>"Yes, but…"  
>"Don't be squeamish," Katniss says. I didn't realise that she was listening in to our conversation. "We're all human, and we're all sitting here at the moment in our underwear. We're not going to gawp at you," she laughs.<p>

"O-Okay," I nod embarrassed. As Katniss and Peeta go to straighten up and reinforce the little shelters that we have been sleeping in, Finnick helps me towards the water. I take off my belt and he helps me wriggle out of my jumpsuit. Before we go into the water, I spot something under the water that I recognise and write in the sand asking him to dive for him. He returns to the surface with a large purple flower which he hands to my good hand.

Then, he lifts me gradually into the water. It's so warm, it's like being in a bath, and I soon relax in the soothing feel of it, like a sea on a summer's day. Finnick leans me against a spoke of land, and I scrub my legs until the disgusting skin that's covered in dried blood, mud and the moisture of the land that clings to me is gone, leaving smooth, clean, pale skin underneath. I splash water on my face, and the rest of my body, all the time Finnick holding me up and making sure I don't drown.

When it comes to the final part of my wash, I have to ask for its help. I squeeze the nectar from the flower and massage it into my hair, the sweet smell of it filling the air. We have these growing on the seabed back in Four, and I used to use them all the time because they're free, smell beautiful and make your hair cleaner than any kind of fancy product. I suppose there's knowledge that you get from not being able to afford expensive hair products for the first sixteen years of your life and having long hair.

"Will you help rinse my hair?" I ask him, and he nods obediently, leaning against the spoke. With one raised knee, he lays me on it, dunking my hair in the water like a witch and rinsing it with his hands. We must have looked like a crazy sight, but when it's done, I'm clean all over and very happy for the first time since I was back in the Capitol.

"Thank you," I grin at him appreciatively, and he merely nods in response. When I rinse my clothes in the water and am helped back into them, Beetee calls us over to the sand, where I am conveniently already sitting. He explains unassumingly that he thinks our next plan is to kill Enobaria and Brutus, who are no doubt out in the arena hiding in the edge of the jungle, ready to eat the safe seafood or pounce on us when we're not looking.

He describes that similar to his Games, he's clutched on to this wire for this very moment, when he knows exactly how to use it to the best of its capacity. His eyes are fervent and fixated just at the thought of this plan, and he's getting so excited his twitches are becoming more and more common with every word that he says. We just watch him, listening and nodding when it's appropriate.

Whilst we're drawing out a map of the arena in the sound, and poking out the places where they are most likely to be, our voices hushed in case they're closer than we think, Beetee is explaining his rather complicated and fanatical theory to us. I wonder if this is how the arena is going to end, as he describes the way the wire should be connected to the lightning tree in the twelve sector, and links to the water near the Cornucopia, and how it will electrify every living thing on the beach and nearby to death.

There are many questions.  
>"Will the wire be able to conduct that much power?" Peeta frowns.<br>"How do you know it will work?" Johanna peers at the spool of wire that Beetee has been clutching on to since the start of the Games.  
>"Where we will be when this happens?" Finnick asks, prodding at the sand map with the stick that we used to draw it. It's long, thin and perfectly shaped. I remind myself to use it as a cane when we're done using it to draw.<p>

Beetee can answer them all.  
>"It'll be able to conduct enough power, as it will burn up once the current passes through it, leaving no trace apart from the electricity it brings with it. I know this because I invented this wire. We will be far up in the jungle where it's safe when the lightning strikes, and there will be no risk to us," he explains, twitching every few words as if it exaggerates his point. We nod in faux knowledge, but really we're all coming to terms with the fact that Beetee is a thousand times smarter than we'll ever be.<p>

We walk over to the lightning section, as Beetee wants to inspect the tree that he will be rigging, now that we have all agreed to his extraordinary plan. With my cane, I can keep with Finnick and Peeta as they carry a now weak Beetee up the slope. Johanna leads us all, followed by the four of us, followed by Katniss. We are in a bad-ass girl sandwich. Usually I would be one of the bad-ass girls, but I find myself again cursing my helplessness.

I can't help thinking that everyone is way too co-operative. It dawns on me that Katniss and Peeta are just using us, and definitely planning to get rid of us once Brutus and Enobaria are dead so they can take us out. Finnick, Johanna, Beetee and I, we know about the rebellion, we know why we're here and why we're co-operating with each other for the greater good that will come from this. But Katniss and Peeta, they know nothing. They're just here for their own interests.

As we approach the tree, Finnick explains to Beetee that Katniss' new ear from where the Capitol fixed her up last year can hear the forcefield surrounding the arena. As he wipes the steam off of his glasses, I can't tell whether he's looking at her suspiciously or whether he's just squinting because he can't see without his glasses. She approaches the lightning tree, the one taller than the others, with a handful of nuts. When she throws one, it hits the forcefield and then bounces back sizzling.

"Just stay below the lightning tree," Katniss warns us, and we divide up jobs. Finnick guards Beetee, but not before diving into the water and getting me a supply of the flowers. Johanna gets water. Peeta gets nuts, and Katniss hunts. I clean Finnick's, Beetee's, Johanna's and my clothes. I'm not that keen on Johanna walking around almost naked, seeing as Finnick is still human and gawps at her like she's the first woman ever created, but I decide that this isn't the time, and get to scrubbing at the shore.

When we can hear the sound of clicks louder than anything from the wedge on our left, that means that the insects from that sector have risen, meaning that it's eleven o'clock and we have to get out of where we are unless we want to be electrocuted too. We get dressed, some of us (i.e. me and Beetee) with a little help, and walk in a circle around to the ten o'clock part of the beach. Beetee gets to work with his wire whilst we prepare the feast for the night.

Seeing as all o f the shellfish will be fried by the time the trap goes off, Finnick and I teach Katniss, Peeta and Johanna how to catch fish and dive for the oysters. I remember the first time that I dived for oysters, on a trip with my dad. We dived for them all morning, and then ate them with bread on the beach. The thought of it makes me so relaxed that I don't even need to think about the thought we'll be killing a hefty chunk of the living things in the arena that night. The water is beautiful and clearer than any other water I think I've seen, and it's a relaxed, warm afternoon fishing and basking in the sun chatting with each other. It's like a spring day on the beach with friends, not a death trap in a Capitol-made showground of slaughter. It's too easy with these people to forget where you are, and I feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure that I don't get too comfortable.

Johanna is looking around for at the top of the beach, waiting for Beetee. We clean the shellfish and gut the real fish, a pretty gross job, putting them in the newly-carved bowls. Peeta, romantically, presents a tiny but perfect pearl about the size of a sweet pea to Katniss and she blushes, clutching on to it as if it's the answer to every problem she's ever encountered and she never wants to let it go. Peeta then turns around to Finnick.

"You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls," he says honestly. Finnick looks down at me and I shrug at him. Isn't it pretty obvious that coal under pressure turns to diamonds? For somebody from the district that produces coal, I thought that would be fairly straightforward. We both dismiss this.  
>"No, it doesn't," Finnick replies. Katniss, however, is convulsing in laughter for no particular reason.<p>

I take my cane and write in the sand. _Hormones. _Finnick nods back. As Beetee and Johanna return for our evening meal, another silver parachute descends from the sky, bearing gifts again from District 3. Twenty-four little rolls, as counted by Finnick, and an appetising little pot of spicy red sauce that makes my mouth water with its scent of hot peppers. Beetee nods at it knowledgeably and shows us how to use it with the fish. I'm so used to getting these sponsor gifts, that I can barely remember the games when I was on my own with no sponsors at all.

The fish that we've caught is salty, the oysters typically delicious (coming from where I do, I was practically born with a taste for oysters, a liking most people have to acquire) and the shellfish delectable. The sauce makes everything vastly more luscious, and with the rolls, we eat so much we can barely shift ourselves. Not that I was finding that easy before. Now, we sit and we wait for there to be a time when we can go and set up our plan.

It's uneasy between everyone, but we're all seeming to get through it. There's an awkward, tense atmosphere, like it's building up to the climax. Everyone is sticking together, however. Peeta and Katniss hold hands and dip their feet into the sea, staring out to the Cornucopia shining in the moonlight. Finnick puts his arm around me and mutters something about this being it. Johanna and Beetee merely exchange strained conversation.

After Katniss judges it is around nine o'clock, we rouse ourselves from our lull of relaxation and go to trek to the lightning tree. When we reach it, we can hear the wave hit the sector next to us, and I feel so full I can barely do anything. Beetee and Finnick wrap his hair-thin wire around the tree in an intricate pattern that glints when the light of the moon catches it, and then Beetee sits us down to explain the next part of his equally intricate plan.

Johanna and Katniss will take the wire through the jungle and then drop the spool into the water, running for the jungle as fast as they can. It's a ticking time bomb, though, and only if they go now, right now, will they be able to make it back up into the jungle before the lightning strikes. It's extremely dangerous. They're not the ones with the problem however. It's Peeta that springs to go with them.

It seems that whatever Katniss does, Peeta seems determined to keep her alive, even if it means risking his own life in the process. And in return, it seems that whatever Peeta does, Katniss is equally resolute on the subject, willing to give up her own life if it means that Peeta will get out of here alive. I wonder when the moment will be when these two plans clash, and hope that it doesn't happen.

"You're too slow," Beetee shakes his head. "I need you, too. Girls, if you want to get out of it all alive, then you need to go _now."  
><em>"It's okay," Katniss nods to Peeta. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up."  
>"Not into the lightning zone," Beetee repeats. "Go further around, into the one or two section – and do <em>not <em>go back onto the beach no matter what."  
>"Don't worry, I'll see you at midnight," Katniss kisses Peeta lightly and runs off into the darkness before he can say anything more.<p>

On our end, Finnick scoops me up as if I weigh nothing at all, and Peeta takes Beetee on his back. We check that the wire is knotted securely and then run at a steady pace into the next sector, rather close to the forcefield. We then sit, and wait, until we hear a groan and two voices. The groan comes from Katniss, it's obvious, but we don't know the voices until their footsteps give them away.

"She's good as dead!" Brutus says. "Come on, Enobaria!" We follow the voices, running back into the sector where we see the wire has gone slack and is curling its way back to the tree.  
>"The Careers! They've cut it!" Peeta says accusingly. Finnick hands me to Peeta, who slings me onto his back and leaves Beetee to run towards his ruined wire. Off into the night, he runs to find where the voices are coming from.<p>

Peeta runs towards Katniss' groan, but he knows Finnick will get her safe, and I can't help but try and apologize for being dead weight on his back. I slither off of him the best that I can, and use my cane to follow him as he darts through the trees. Just how Finnick did when he heard my screams. Before we can get that far, a cannon booms to show that somebody has died. I can barely think of who it is before I'm back with Beetee, who is writhing in pain on the ground. He is clutching a knife wrapped in wire, but he's hardly alive. Is he the one who the cannon is shooting for? No, it can't be. The cannon only ever sounds if one of the tributes is well and truly dead.

What is he doing with a knife wrapped in wire? He's motioning towards the forcefield, up beyond the lightning tree, with the humming sound that no-one can hear but Katniss. Was that really his plan? To send the knife flying into the forcefield and send us all into flames? Somehow, I don't think Beetee's that reckless, nor do I think that he would misunderstand a forcefield so gravely. Either he didn't mean to send the knife in, or he knows that what he's doing is right. Suddenly everything makes sense.

"Katniss! Katniss!" I can hear Peeta's voice, far below in the sector.  
>"Peeta! Peeta!" a shriek comes from behind me, too close for comfort. She's camouflaged perfectly, sitting just above me, but I am so pale and obvious it hurts. She can obviously see me, helpless by Beetee, but she didn't say anything. She didn't do anything, apart from string up an arrow and aim it in my general direction.<p>

Since when was Katniss so dead set on killing everyone? Suddenly the thought that I had earlier is coming true – Katniss is doing everything that she can to keep Peeta alive, and she doesn't know that all we're trying to do is keep both of them alive. She honestly believes that its in both her and Peeta's best interests to kill as many people as possible before she dies from the blood spraying through her make-shift bandage and dousing us both. I can feel the warm, wet spray land on my face and drip down my cheek. Well, I won't let her do it. I might be half-useless now, but I still have a good arm and knives, and if she's going to try and kill me or Finnick I'll just have to stick up for myself.

Everything is moving so fast. Another cannon sounds as Enobaria and Finnick reach the tree. So that means that two out of Brutus, Johanna and Chaff are dead – the rest of us are here. I contemplate who it was. Chaff is definitely gone – I don't think he will be in the running, but there's no time to be sad. I want to believe that Johanna is alive, but if Katniss has her arrow pointed directly at my head, why would she hesitate killing her?

Why is Enobaria with us now? Has she given up on her thoughts of winning the Games all by herself now that her district partner is probably dead? Or is she thinking that by getting here, now that Johanna may be dead, she'll be able to save Brutus? All I remember is her gleaming gold-tipped fangs from back in the interview, and how they're more golden than I'll ever be.

Enobaria and Finnick are huddled by the tree, and I'm crouched by Beetee. I don't know why Enobaria and Katniss are hesitating to kill me, but Enobaria seems to be with us now, and Katniss just looks like she doesn't know exactly what she should do in this situation. Her bow rises from being aimed at my head and instead goes to Enobaria's neck. Enobaria and Finnick haven't even noticed that she's here.

I try to say something but no sound will come out of my mouth. Katniss goes for Beetee, and I instinctively lean over him to protect him – is she trying to kill him now as well? Where does she draw the line? She doesn't kill him, but she does shove me off of him vehemently, grabbing the knife with the wire and attaching it to her bow.

I go back to lying over Beetee, feeling that somehow me being in the way of him and the rest of the world will somehow protect him from all the dangers of the arena. As I'm feeling the sharp rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, Katniss takes her makeshift knife arrow and releases it into the sky. It flies through the air, taking the golden shimmering thread with it.

Just as it soars through the forcefield, the lightning strikes the tree and we would have been watching the Careers get fried. Instead, one's with us, and one's probably dead. Katniss is thrown back on the ground, unable to do or say anything – I can hear her muttering for Peeta, but she doesn't have the breath to scream it out. Where is he anyway? Where is Johanna?

The wire turns without any warning from glimmering golden to suddenly white-hot bright as it burns up from the electricity. Now the electricity that was meant to be killing the District 2 tributes is sent with all of its possible force into the forcefield. I'm thrown off of Beetee by a tremor, and then before I can say a word, I'm blinded by a flash of glittery blue light.

* * *

><p><em>I hope you guys are still with me! <em>  
><em>Loving your reviews, I'm so amazed at the amount of hits I'm getting, from all over the world. :'3<em>  
><em>It's great. I love you all. ~<em>  
><em>Review please. It makes me so happy ^o^<em>  
><em>Have a great day too! ^_~<em>


	14. AN

back by popular demand, working on next chapter

hello lovelies


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